Seashells
by minni
Summary: There was something about her from the beginning that called to him, attracted him to her. And always, there had been something about the man which made her want to look deep inside of him. With the calm water, twinkling stars, and forgotten shells, the
1. Holiday

Hey, I'm back! Yay! I'm psyched for this story. It's been on my brain for some time, so here it comes!

note: Minerva does not teach, but that's all I'll tell you for now

note: Uhm…pre EVERYTHING. Nearly all of this is made up from my own brain and holds no connection to the books except for the characters and certain dates. But while I'm at it, these characters do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

note: yes, this first chapter is pretty short for my standards, but I think it will be beneficial enough. Hope you like it!

Summary: There was something about her from the beginning that called to him, attracted him to her. And always, there had been something about the man which made her want to look deep inside of him. With the calm water, twinkling stars, and forgotten shells, there arises a flame that had never been burned.

* * *

Seashells 

Chapter one: Holiday

Albus watched with a smile as his things packed themselves up. It only took one bag to hold his worldly possessions, thanks to the wonders of magic. He was glad to be finally getting away, freeing himself of the world in which he lived. There'd be no reports, students, ministry, or owls for an entire three weeks, thank Merlin. Freedom; it was such an awesome gift.

He took this holiday every year for really nothing else other than his sanity. The man truly believed that he would go crazy if he never got away; on more than one occasion he had come close. There was just something relaxing about Hermit Lake. It was just him, the sky, and water. Solemnity was the key to it all.

The man looked around his home, finding nothing but furniture and then nodded his head for reassurance. All packed. Albus grabbed his bag and then apparated with a pop to his summer home.

Naturally he came into another virtually empty house. There was only furniture on the lower level with the exception of utensils in the kitchen. He walked around the entire bottom level, opening every window in the house to allow the summer sun to invade the presently shady rooms. Everything was just as he had left it after eleven months of darkness, with the exception of dusty sheets which covered the settees.

The front room was still homely, the back rooms still friendly, and the kitchen still threatening. He'd never admit it to anyone but a close friend that he lacked any ability at all to cook. Even oatmeal that he attempted to make turned out burned. Albus had resorted many years before to start bringing his own rations, which would include a massive amount of confectionary and pre-made sandwiches (created by sweet old Ms. Thomas). The entire house had been fire-proofed many years beforehand, merely because he couldn't stand to lose the love of his life.

Feeling a decent sense of happiness, Albus made his way up the stairs to where his bedroom was. A wide smile crossed his face when he took a glance of the room. The walls were splattered with red a white paint. Everyone who had ever come into his house wondered about the odd choice in colors; he'd always told them that he needed to express himself. Express he did. The man's bed was also red, enticingly red. He was rather tempted to just fall onto the mattress and let himself drift off to sleep. Of course, Albus refused to do that; taking a nap would be giving in to old age. Old he was not.

A man of eighty-three, he was a strapping young man, at least in the means of the wizarding world. He'd never understood the concept of aging to wizards versus muggles, but he could comprehend the fact that magic kept him and others looking younger longer. If he were to be mistaken for a muggle, he would look like someone of perhaps forty; a wonderful age. He did rather like the advantages of being magical most of the time.

Albus continued to survey his room and then made a break for the window to open up the white curtain. Sun streamed in through the area, lighting up anything and everything. He nodded in approval and then turned back to stare out the window.

He had the most beautiful view of the lake. The brilliant blue water swished only slightly as a breeze blew through the little cove. The surrounding trees also moved, dancing gently. Across the lake there was only one house, usually uninhibited when he visited. It was a rather nice home, containing a pleasant front porch and green shutters. He believed that the house opposite of him was a reason that Hermit Lake agreed with him so much. Though he was very much alone most of the time, the fact that he knew that there could possibly be someone else kept his mind wandering.

He loved people very much. Albus couldn't have chosen to be a professor if he didn't like people—particularly young ones. He worked at Hogwarts during the school year, acting as the Transfiguration Professor. The man had been doing it for nearly thirty years. During the summer he helped with different departments in the ministry, mostly specializing in education. However, Albus had been given a great amount of praise for his developments in magical elements.

That praise was perhaps a major reason of why he did indeed take a holiday every year. He didn't like to be thought of in the light that he was. Albus was not a great man; he simply knew his craft, simple as that. One or two discoveries did not make a person anything to hale. The world liked to think of him as modest; he considered himself unworthy. What a fine line there was indeed.

Albus blinked a few times, suddenly having his attention drawn elsewhere. There was someone on the lake, drifting in a boat. He pressed his nose to the glass of the window to get a better look. The figure was rather far away from him, but there was no doubt in his mind that what he stared at was in fact a feminine being. There was, as it seemed, a parasol blocking the sun.

He couldn't see anything of the girl. The man could not make out whether he was staring at a little child, an old woman, or, perhaps the most deadly of all, a middle-aged woman. The boat was completely facing the opposite direction. There was no way at all to see her face. Albus though, he made up an image in his mind. It didn't take much imagination at all for him to see a young woman floating across the way. She would have green eyes and blonde hair. Her skin would be milky white, hence the parasol.

The man shook his head slowly.

He hadn't been in love for years. He was jumping at any opportunity, even before all—if any—facts were known. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself; for all his luck, he'd be staring at someone old enough to be his grandmother. He could fantasize though, at least before he met her. He'd go across the way and meet the girl, woman, or lady that evening; until then he'd pretend that he would introduce himself to the most beautiful woman on Earth (who would fall madly in love with him).

Albus chuckled again. Hermit Lake _would_ be the perfect place to woo a woman. He had the stars in the evening, the lake in the day, and a solitude that was inept anywhere else. Maybe if he kept his fingers crossed long enough he could get lucky, maybe even find the love of his life.

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Hm. Well, had to leave it at that. Hope you liked the first chapter. of course, you must remember that this IS ONLY the first chapter, therefore, the least interesting to a point.

(sighs) I love romance. It's the best ever. I hope you share my interest, otherwise I daresay this story is not for you.

I'd be really thankful if you'd leave me a little note. I'll offer a cookie or two…I have chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin. Either one take your fancy?


	2. Not Alone

Chapter Two: Not Alone

hey, I'm back! Yay! hehe…the chapter is even semi-long…a true sign that I am here to stay. :)

uhm…late update, I know. That has a perfectly valid explanation however. I was ready to post this last weekend, but it was Thanksgiving for Americans such as me. My family went to Disneyland, California Adventure and Universal Studios over the break. The thought of even LOOKING at this story when I got back just didn't go over well with my exhausted body…so I waited another week. sorry. From now on I'll strive to do 2 week intermissions. :)

**_okay_** **_then…NOTES! (which I got a great number of FABULOUS responses)_**

**kidarock:** Well, first off, thanks for the lovely review. Second off, the lake and house descriptions are very fresh in my head. I went to Lake Powell in September and made sure that I soaked up ALL of the magic of the lake. :) The house(s) have been in my imagination for years and years! Ah…and Albus with his age? Well, I believe that it's normal for all men to feel a little bit old and want something that would have been available to them in youth. haha. Well, I sort of avoided that by making our Albus look about 40…that's the way I've always thought about it though; I figure that the magical people ought to be able to live longer, since there's such a shortage of em, yah know?

**Tainted Image**: I love your name! It's awesome. Anywho, thanks for the review. I hope you enjoy the story. I know I'll enjoy writing it.

**gahhMinerva**: Thank you dahhhling. I hope this story does turn out fabulous, I love the plot line. If I could write this fic a million times over I would. The plot line is so clear in my mind that I know I'll have you all laughing, crying, screaming "what the heck is wrong w/ you", and sighing of happiness. It'll be great, just stick w/ me. :) thanks for the review again.

**BansheeGirl**: Well, first off, thank yah much for the review. Next on the list would be my point on what you said in your review. You mentioned that Albus would feel guilty being in a relationship? Well, the way I figure it is that Albus is a guy and EVERYONE needs to be loved at least one point in their lives. I make it my business to have a Dumbledore fall in love with a McGonagall. :) And I try not to make everything OOC…but again, one must take into consideration that this is you know…50 years before the books take place. People change…DRAMATICALLY. I'll lay down a basis to where you could see the path that either of them take over their lives, but they won't fully be what you're used to imagining them. (one choc. chip cookie to you!) Uhm…and Albus being 83 vs. Minerva? Well…I don't honestly know what the REAL age difference is and I don't see why I ought to. …then again, I don't see why I can't change it. I just picked the ages I did because I felt like picking random numbers, I guess. (lol)

**Erica Dawn:** Thanks, babe! Haven't heard from you in a while. :) I'm glad you thought of Albus as being realistic. I like to think of him comparable to normal people, so I make him normal. He's got all the screws and nails that the rest of us do inside of him. Hope to hear from you again.

**HMS Frivolity and Felines:** Well, I suppose you also get a chocolate chip cookie:) mm…that sounds really good right now, but you're getting the last one. :) And YES romance is the best part about writing. Making up something that can make you heart melt is one of the most satisfying things I've ever done. And no, Albus does not know Minerva (is there) at this point. Of course they're going to fall in love, that's of course the plot line. I can't always guarantee a happy ending, though I strive for them. Whatever the ending may be (I haven't QUITE decided) it will be absolutely wonderful and we'll all either be smiling or crying (maybe both).

**Angeldust-aka-Evilwoman**: Haha. The summary? I daresay, that has to be a first. I never thought that I was very good at writing summaries, but you've changed my mind officially. I hope the summary isn't the only interesting thing about this story for you. Remember…my readers have a direct influence on me and what I write! hehe. Well, anywho, here's your update and I hope it does not disappoint you.

**SherbetKitty**: Thanks for the review! Erg…and uh…well, here's your update! I've spent about 2 weeks editing and making it just right. I truly believe that the second and last chapters are the most important chapters to a story. The first chapter hooks the reader and the second is meant to set the story into place. Of course the last chapter is simply the ending, which no one could live without. So anyway, I'll stop babbling and let you get to reading. hope to hear from you again!

**Quill of Minerva**: Hey, haven't heard from you in a while either, huh? Well…(hehe) that line was added out of sheer humor. I needed something that could make a few of my readers chuckle. After all, what is a story without some funny lines/scenes? You'll get at least one more pretty funny scene later on, but for now that'll do to at least hook y'all in. This chapter below is fairly informative, but I believe it conveys a massive amount of emotion in the beginning. Hopefully you'll be able to connect, along with the other reviewers!

**Hogwarts Duo:** hehe. You know me too well. Aye, the romance is to come! For now, we'll be stuck in a "friend-zone", but that won't apply for the entire story. The imagery I tried extremely hard to convey the atmosphere…its one of my goals as a writer to be better at imagery and scene-setting. It just so happened that I was able to connect very well with the lake. (which is very funny, considering I live in the desert!) And I DO hope that this story is grand for you. I'll be putting in much effort towards it. Hope to hear from you again.

**TartanPhoenix:** Aye, I have been cooking something up in my mind! It just happens to be below these sentences! You know I couldn't live without writing another fluffy romance. I'd just kill over if I were outlawed from it! So here I write…and write…and write…and procrastinate. (lol) I REALLY hope you like this story. I like to think of it as original, but I daresay that's hoping for too much. There has to be something somewhere out there that is similar to this, though I don't believe I've read it. Anywho, it should be a good read if I can keep my head in the story and not get too busy. I'm afraid it lacks as big of a plotline as the last story, but it'll convey all that a story ought to! Can't wait to hear what you think of it!

**Underground**: Oh thank you! I'm so happy that you liked "The Benefit of Time". I put a lot of effort into it and it is certainly my favorite thus far. You're one of the few people to mention my age and I always smile when I read those notes. The thing is, I may be only sixteen, but I have a mind that likes to dwell on people and things that may or may not happen to them. It's become a habit of mine to try to figure out what other people are thinking. Ever do that? It's fun. Anywho, true, I'm young, but I connect with people in a way that other people my age apparently cannot. I love writing. It's one of my favorite things to do. I only hope that you continue to like what I have to say inside my stories. :)

**assassinatorgirl**: Hey there! Thanks for the review. It was awesome. And here is your update. I truly hope that you continue to like this story. It's going to have a heck of a lot of romance and will make you laugh, cry, scream (at me) and smile. It ought to fill your craving for whatever you think a story ought to be. If it doesn't, you can always write me and say so! I try to listen…:) Can't wait to see what you have to say!

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Chapter Two: Not Alone

A young woman looked onto the lake as it reflected the luminous moon beams from her balcony. She loved the panoramic view; the moon, water, and trees all worked together in perfect harmony to create the epitome of relaxation. There seemed to be no world other than the one which she stared. Merlin, it was beautiful.

Minerva McGonagall looked down at her hand which had been twisting her necklace in the previous seconds. She'd gotten that necklace years before as a present. The sapphire charm had long since lost its sparkle, but she never cared much for the glimmer of things like jewelry. The woman only found pleasure in that moment when it had been presented.

That's all life was, really; a million moments that will either be taken or left well enough alone. The woman knew this fact well after missing hundreds of thousands of moments with anyone for whom she'd ever cared. Often they never knew, whoever they may be, that she loved at all. That was the thing that hurt the most to her. No one had ever known that she thought them so close to her heart.

Her mother didn't know. Minerva regretted that more than anything. Three months it had been since she was laid in the ground and yet there was no peace. No silence could ever keep the woman from thinking about what she should have said and didn't. There had been no words. It was not that she couldn't think of anything to say, it was simply the fact that there was no way to express what she felt at that moment. A stiff statue was what she had been. Even in those last few days, Minerva had nothing for her mother. There had simply been silence; a moment and then another. Eventually the seconds led to nothingness and a very lost woman by the name of McGonagall.

That's why she came to such an unfamiliar place in the dead of summer. Minerva was so very lost. She didn't know herself. Was she happy? Sad? Frightened? Inexplicably, the answer had to be all of the above, but that helped her reach no deduction. There was no place to go, even with the knowledge that she was an emotional time bomb. Her only choice was to go some place and then _find_ what was most certainly lost.

She squeezed her necklace gently between her fingers and then turned herself towards the door.

In she went, to a house which she had never stayed along with a room that her eyes had never seen. Though she had to admit it was similar to how she would have decorated the room, it was too impersonal. Maybe it was the way that the tan comforter hung off the bed, or how there was a lonely painting in the center of a wall. Whatever it was, the room had her a little bit uneasy.

Of course, she supposed that it needed to be quarters which were fit for anyone. The house was passed from one person to the next for more and more money. Minerva hoped to be the last one to hold the house, but word of mouth had been that the place was much too lonely for anyone.

The woman had simply figured that nothing could outdo her desire for human contact. If anything were to end her state of solemnity, then it would be praised for years to come. Maybe she needed the friendless house just as much as it needed her.

She glided across the room and discretely put on her nightgown.

Shaking her head, the woman walked slowly towards the formal bed. It would all look better in the morning, when Minerva could start working on herself and thinking about everything that hadn't been said—what she could and couldn't do.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

A low echo came over the house. The woman blinked slowly to herself, rather dumbstruck at what she thought was heard. Was it…the door?

Minerva walked to her bathroom and grabbed a robe, slightly perturbed. Then she went slowly down the stairs, only to make sure that there was indeed someone there. The woman slid the robe over her nightgown and waited. When a second pair of knocks came, she began opening the door at a disturbingly sluggish rate—quite rightly in fact.

Struck absolutely speechless, her jaw opened and closed when the assumed stranger came into view. Minerva knew the man with whom she was staring. He had red hair and blue eyes. It had been eight years since she'd seen the like of him. The dumbstruck woman swallowed slowly. "Professor Dumbledore?"

He nodded slowly. The man was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him; Minerva could hear that high note in his voice. "Miss McGonagall; I wasn't aware that you owned this house."

She bobbed her head slowly. "I purchased it a month or two ago." The woman's brows arched down in an odd moment. Albus Dumbledore, her favorite teacher, was standing there after a little under ten years. Minerva really couldn't help but ask _why_. "You…you have a house here?"

The man nodded his head again. "I've had it for nearly thirty years."

Minerva blinked. That was completely unexpected. She folded her arms gently across herself, in some form of disbelief. "Your neighbors didn't mention that you had a residence here."

"I suppose they wouldn't have." He shrugged. A quick silence passed, revealing just enough time for Minerva to take in his tall frame. He, too, seemed to take a little glance at the woman, perhaps becoming reacquainted with the figure. The man pressed on after nearly three seconds of silence. "They never seemed to be around when I was; I can't say that I ever met them at all."

As odd as it was, Minerva was almost enlightened by this idea. How could anyone not realize that Albus Dumbledore was living across the way from them? His name, out of any in the wizarding world, was the one most spoken. No person would knowledgeably give up a home so close to such a great man. Besides that, he had always been one for good conversation. The man knew how to make anyone laugh, may they be child, man, or woman. He had been Minerva's favorite professor for a reason.

"Well then I suppose they've lost out on something." Minerva gave a short smile. "Would you…care to come in, Professor?" Her home was not at all to her liking quite then, but she couldn't very well leave the man out on her front porch. Besides that, he'd always been good to her during her school days; she had no reason to leave him in the night air.

He nodded his head, but didn't take any advancement towards the inside of the impersonal house. "You aren't my student anymore. Call me Albus."

Minerva blinked. "I think that might be a little bit odd for me." He'd always been her professor. Referring to the man by his first name would just be too…strange, if not personal.

The man chuckled. "I hope you're able to get past it then, otherwise I think conversation might be in short supply."

She bobbed her head slowly. He had a point most certainly. And Minerva, always a giver, never a taker, gave in to his wish. "Very well then, Albus. Won't you come in?"

"Certainly, that's very kind of you," he smiled.

Minerva could remember very distinctly that he liked to smile back in her school days. He was the one professor of the lot who would join in on the festivities on April the first. Professor Dumbledore had even managed to get the headmaster once or twice _without_ being caught, a feat no student could ever manage. He'd been loads of fun back then…intelligent to boot on top of it.

She led him to the only settee on the lower level, which held residence next to the empty fireplace. The both of them sat down, but there was an unfamiliar silence in the room. It wasn't that there lacked anything to talk about, but it was more to the effect that, well, they were each slightly caught off guard at meeting up with a lost relationship. Minerva looked at him without trying to seem too curious. However, Albus also looked at her, not hiding his amusement at the scene.

"I really hadn't expected to see you open that door," he said gently. "Out of all the people in all the world, my favorite student was the one to live here."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "_I_ was you favorite student?" Yes, she had always liked his classes, even excelled beyond the normal person, but she'd never considered herself anything special to a teacher. Minerva had been herself when she was in school, meaning dedicated. "I find that rather hard to believe. You've been teaching for as long as I've even been alive."

Albus nodded. "True, but a professor must always have his one important student. You happen to fit the description. You were studious, on time, and had a rather wonderful sense of humor when you stayed back to talk to me. I had been really sad to see you graduate."

Minerva blinked, even more dumbstruck than when she had opened the door. Did he somehow know that she was lonely for someone like him? For in the few sentences that he had spoken, he'd managed to make her feel like smiling. Minerva hadn't willfully smiled in two months for anyone.

"I've missed the school," she admitted quietly. "The entire atmosphere was just…" she looked around to find the right word. The empty fireplace caught her attention, "…magical."

The man bobbed his head slowly. "You're welcome to visit anytime. Though, I did hear something about you working with The Society? There are rumors of you being the youngest in quite some time."

Something of a blush grew on her face, though she couldn't imagine why. She was the youngest to be working in her branch, B.E.T.A.S. (Biological Experimentation for Transfigurative and Associative Sciences), having no less than a sixteen year start on her fellow members. "The Society" was merely the term used to refer to her particular department in the Ministry, specializing in theories and science. It got its name when the scientific big headed men of the century decided they were too intelligent to simply be referred to as 'the department'.

"Yes," she replied softly. "The closest person to my age is sixteen years older than I. They all find it rather offensive, I think, that I've earned a spot next to them."

"Well you've deserved it." He pulled his head down, perhaps in agreement with himself. "I don't believe I've ever met a witch who could change form as early in life as you. You were walking around the school as a cat before your second year. I daresay," he bobbed his head, "that's some definite proof that your powers exceed most others."

She nodded her head slowly. "I suppose so," she glanced at the ground and then back into his eyes. "But every now and then I wish I could be a normal person and wait until I'm thirty-five to join." Her head grew low. Work was one of the many other reasons that she had not been up to her normally headstrong, happy self. Deadlines, people, files all played into her state of loneliness. Minerva lifted her head back up again and tried not to look too sad. "I'd get fewer headaches and more people with whom I could chat."

"You've always got your dear old Transfiguration Professor to talk to." He seemed sincere, perhaps only because it was in his disposition. "You know, I'm lonely most of the year for another intelligent being. It couldn't possibly hurt anything for you to drop in once or twice to keep me company."

She smiled gently. It was a fine offer, but she thought not. He acted lonely, but he always had something to do or someone to see. It had been often when she was a student that he left the school for some ministry work. Nonetheless, she nodded softly and gave him a fake smile. "Perhaps I'll consider it."

A silence fell in on them, slightly less unnerving as the last one. Minerva still stared at him and he still stared at her, but there lacked awkwardness. Maybe that was just what the woman felt like, but she couldn't help but realize that there was something in the quiet which she had never known. No, Minerva didn't know what to say, but for that moment, it seemed quite all right. The lack of sound could almost be considered as comforting.

He had rather blue eyes. They reminded her of the way an ocean looks towards the horizon. Serious, they were, but it was as if they were searching for something. The only strange thing was that they were staring straight at her. What could he be looking for upon her? There was nothing even remotely spectacular about the woman at that moment; she was nowhere near her usual standards.

"Well," he whispered gently, "how long will you be here?"

Minerva blinked. "Two weeks. And you?"

"Three weeks," he nodded. "They're much more lenient on you as time passes. It will be nice to have someone to talk to this year…especially someone I'm already relatively well acquainted with."

The woman allowed the slightest hint of a smile cross her face, only for him. "I think it will be a good change to be seeing you regularly." True it was, she felt the same way as the man. To have someone, anyone to talk to would be heaven. "I understand that it may be awkward at first, but I believe this will be the sort of holiday I've been looking forward to."

He nodded slowly. "Glad to be of service." He stood up from the settee and looked down at her. "Well, anyhow, I believe it's getting late. You were obviously getting ready for bed when I came, so I'll leave you to that. You uh…wouldn't hold an objection to me visiting tomorrow, would you?"

She thought about it for a few seconds—much too many seconds.

Albus began to explain his point, without need. "Well, Minerva, it's just that I think I'll be wanting to see _someone_ somewhere in the near future, I just thought that it might be convenient if it were the person I was living across from for the next few weeks. Whatever you uh…decide," the man shrugged.

"That'll be lovely," she nodded. The woman sat up from her seat and led him to the door. "I don't think it's a crime to have a chat with a neighbor."

The man had a small smile cross his face. "I'll see you in the late morning, Minerva."

She smiled. "I'll be seeing you."

Then he left. Albus Dumbledore took his leave and Minerva was alone again. The woman glanced around the much too impersonal room. The fireplace was filthy; ash from the previous owners still hung inside and rust had begun overtaking the fire tools. There was a mantelpiece directly above the fireplace, wanting to be covered with something even mildly important. Even the settee needed to be cleaned, perhaps even replaced. Under the settee there was a rug, completely covered in dirt and soot.

Minerva shook her head slowly. Then she made her way to the window, not far from the settee. Again, the woman stared outside to the calm water. In the distance, she could see flickering lights inside a home. She sighed.

She'd found someone to talk to over her holiday. He'd be kind and sincere; give her good advice. The man would make her smile and maybe even laugh. He'd show her things, she knew, that she'd never considered before; that's just the type of man he was—or had been anyhow. Albus Dumbledore was exactly what she needed.

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well, there it is. hope yah liked it. Review for me? please? you'll put a smile on my face…and I love to smile. Can I offer you some nuts? (that's all I have! It's the holidays and the candy has been…plucked from my reach) :) 


	3. Conceptions

okay, I give in…no more notes. :'( I'll miss writing back to you all! Thank you for reviewing, you've been awesome!

Note: I'm not sure if it'll be two weeks when I update next. I have a trip, Christmas, AND a spastic computer. We'll see, but the max wait at this point is 3 weeks. :)

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Chapter Three: Conceptions

Albus woke up early like he always did. There was little more than a glimmer of sunlight to behold at the horizon while the stars were still quite visible. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully as he stared through the bedroom window.

The water was calm, mist low, and air soft. The trees even swayed gently in the morning air, dancing to the early birds' song. An almost ghostly figure was sitting at the edge of the dock in a perplexing light, dragging her bare feet across the water. He'd been watching her for nearly ten minutes as she'd been laying there, head still as any of the rocks on the shore.

She was lonely; he could tell. It was not that she was out by the lake in the morning, or that her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him, no. He'd deduced that Minerva was lonely by an expression. It was only a look, combination of lips and eyes, but it told him much. If one were to ask him to describe this facial expression, all he could say was that her eyes were sad and her mouth blank. He realized that ordinarily eyes would be blank and a mouth would be sad, but that would not quite describe what he saw. It was if she were a bogart who'd mistaken her enemy's fear and was left only with half of an object, twisted and mangled.

He shook his head slowly, quite at a loss. In, out, in, he watched as she glided her feet across the water, sending ripples across the lake. She was looking up now, at his home. Minerva could probably see him if she looked hard enough, but he didn't care. He was wholly fixated on her face.

There was a smile on her lips, unlike anything that he had ever seen. By this, he did not mean a smile relative to Minerva, no; the formation of her mouth was something entirely new to him. She was deep in some sweet memory, perhaps.

Her hand was clutching something at the base of her neck, holding it close to her chest. It was a necklace, a love charm conceivably. He wouldn't put it past Minerva; she was a very beautiful woman, always had been. There had to have been some love—perhaps a lost one—, for whom she longed, yearned. And she was thinking about him out on the dock while in the comfort of wonderful memories. The images that flooded through her head registered as a smile; only love could put such a fulfilled look on a woman's face.

Albus blinked to himself, considering his own love life. There was only one woman that he had ever loved in true, unyielding adoration. She had been younger than him, only by a few years. And she had the most beautiful gray eyes he'd ever seen; he still got lost in the memory when he allowed himself. Beautiful hair too, it had been some off shade of brown, really closer to red. God, she had been beautiful.

But he didn't miss her anymore, not after nearly sixty years. Some days he liked to think that she looked at him from the sky, helped him sleep when the hard nights came, but she was a fleeting thought in his mind most of the time. Only once a year did he ever seem to really think about the woman, and that was at Hermit Lake. It had something to do with the seashells that had been discarded along the shore back when the lake was still part of the ocean. It was something to do with remembrance.

Minerva's smile had faded over the few seconds that he allowed himself to drift in thought. Now she was simply staring at him, or at least at the window. It was not unintentional either, her eyes peering across the lake into his. They were searching, wondering about him.

Albus could say nothing to this; he'd been doing the exact same thing for nearly half an hour. However, a new thought rose in his mind when he looked at the woman. He had thought it subconsciously before, he knew, but could never quite retrieve the thought. Now he knew where his curiosity was embedded relative to Minerva. He knew those eyes; they were gray.

* * *

Minerva had been doing some cleaning in the morning, starting at the bottom of the house, then going to the top. First the kitchen, then the sitting room, followed by the fireplace and downstairs lavatory. Upstairs she did her bedroom, the two spares, and also her own bathroom. It was mostly done by magic, though she did her own part; enough to get her hands wrinkly and clothes dirty, anyhow.

She looked down at her horrid mess of robes. They had been blue at the beginning of the day, now they were nothing but green. Minerva shook her head gently with a frown. She hadn't been that dusty since she'd first entered the ministry. Field work, that's what they'd called it. For an entire year she dragged herself around the world, studying and being quizzed on the catholic topic of Transfiguration. Though it had certainly been an enriching experience, she did not miss the sand storms in Niger—or the Sahara for that matter.

Continuing the shaking of her head, the woman walked into her room, cold, impersonal, and clean, where she sat on the bed gently. She was quite aware that the dust which her clothes had collected was falling everywhere, but it didn't seem to matter at that very second. Minerva was ever so transfixed on the wall. There was nothing more than a small photograph on it, if one would even venture to call it that. The picture of the lake, small and insignificant on such a large wall, called for the woman's attention.

It was one of those pictures that hadn't been left behind so very long ago. Black, white, and gray were the only colors of the photograph, which nearly made the concept laughable. A sunset; what was the good of twilight if there weren't any colors? It was an odd question for an odd picture which seemed to be the only thing of a personal nature in the room.

Minerva looked harder. No, she was not able to see pink or orange or even a sunset for that matter. What she could see, however, was a glare on the water which seemed to lead straight over to a boat—an empty one. A chill ran up her spine, though she could never think of why. Well, perhaps that was a lie, not that she cared to tell anyone.

Hermit Lake, she was at Hermit Lake. It only made sense that there would be such a…lonely picture. Sad as it was, Minerva could not help herself but begin to dwell on the photograph while she sat at the bed. It was only a simple boat, just a little old thing that used oars and carried people from place to place. But it had no one in it and there was an empty sky behind it. There weren't even clouds in the background, just a sky that wished it were colors; instead it was just different tints of gray.

The boat was a metaphor for something and Minerva knew perfectly well what it was; a drifting object in an elliptical world, a lone human. There was no background because the earth was bare and there was no need to deceive onlookers of the picture. There were no dwellers of the area because then there would be no need for a photograph. She saw the genius in the art.

Alone; that was perhaps where the phrase "hermit" came in regards to Hermit Lake. She'd been drawn to the name, she realized, because she knew she was well on her way to becoming one. The unfortunate—and perhaps ironic—bit of her situation was that her deepest fear was in fact being alone. Oh, of course she held no dread for spending two weeks on her own; it was more to the long effect that it haunted her. Minerva never wanted to be alone when she was too old to work. She would never be able to spend all of those nights without anyone. The woman would rather do away with herself than live with that sort of loneliness.

It was imperative that she solve the mystery she'd brought with herself for that very reason. She could not be good for anyone until she had her proper mind and was able to grieve. After all, Minerva had many people to cry for, among them was her mother.

She'd been a sweet woman, the nicest that Minerva had ever come across. Her mother had been the caretaker most of the time, the one which helped the decisions be solved regarding anything from work to man trouble. That was what Minerva missed the most. There was no more mother to cry to at night when things just went so awry that crying was the only answer. And what's more, there was always an answer to be given by her mother, even in those sorts of desperate situations. Now there really was no way to solve anything, except to let life lead its course. Minerva was not entirely sure that she could do that.

The woman took an exceptionally long blink before allowing herself to focus just a little bit longer on the photograph. A boat in a large lake; that's all it was. There really was nothing to it, but Minerva saw through that. She was that little vessel, alone on the lake.

And she really could not help but wonder if it would always be that way.

* * *

Albus knocked on the door with a smile on his face.

He was happy to be seeing Minerva again. Though he had indeed watched her for a majority of the morning, she didn't seem to have noticed that he'd been focusing in on the woman. She'd been wearing the same thing from the evening before, a remarkably lacy nightgown no lighter than black. It was an interesting contrast, he'd decided; light skin with dark clothing. The clash made him appreciate more what he saw in the woman. She was conflicted on her own, he knew, but she made it possible for him to realize that. Minerva was a single light, often replaced and forgotten by shadows in the background.

The man had decided that he would not mention his spying from earlier in the day. She could only become angry with him and besides that, there would be plenty of time for him to ask his questions. Minerva had two weeks. He'd know her secrets and dreams and laughter by the end. After all, with who else was she was able to talk?

"Albus," she stated when the door had been opened. It was only a statement, hardly even a welcome. She sounded more surprised than anything.

"Minerva," he nodded gently. "I believe we set up to meet around this time?"

The woman bobbed her head slowly. "Yes, we did. Come in," she softly replied.

He followed her inside and straight to the settee, where he had been the previous evening. She beckoned him to sit down with a hand and he did. Minerva, however, did not follow suit. The woman shrugged. "Would you mind if I went up the stairs to dress? I've uh, been cleaning all morning and am not at my best."

He blinked, really realizing it for the first time. She was covered in clumpy, filmy, dirty dust from toe to shoulder. Cleaning? Merlin, it looked as if she'd been attacked by the dust bunny. Albus nodded his head. "Go right ahead."

The woman smiled a toothless grin. "Feel free to look around."

"I will," he replied gently.

Then Miss Minerva McGonagall ran up the stairs and completely out of sight. Albus waited for a few seconds lest she come back. When he heard no extra footsteps, he did in fact go to explore. The truth was that he was really quite interested in the old house. It had been there for years and not once had he been invited to tour the inside.

There was only the room which he'd seen the evening before and the kitchen. He glanced around the little dining area, noticing how incredibly immaculate it was. Of course, he had no reason at all to expect anything different. Minerva was a perfectionist, hence naturally becoming clean. He did have to give her a nod for having such a beautifully decorated—and probably dusted—kitchen. Merlin knows it beat the hell out of his.

He walked past the table, beyond the counter, and then to the back door. The sun was glaring through it, bright as anything. It lit up the entire room. For a quick second he felt really quite enlightened to just fall asleep in the sun's rays, right on Minerva's kitchen floor. Lord knows what a mistake _that_ would be. So instead of falling asleep, Albus just stood and stared both outside and inside the house. He didn't know how many minutes passed.

"I daresay a kitchen is not as interesting as you make it seem, that is unless you know something I don't."

Albus made a little chuckle. He was not lying the evening before when he told the woman that she had a wonderful sense of humor as a student. Well, perhaps it wasn't so much humor as sarcasm. He turned around slowly, ready to reply. Something stopped him from speaking however, and it was certainly not the lack of words inside of his mind.

Those eyes…they were stuck on him, wide and soft. They were in need of something, though he could not justify what. Albus had not only seen those eyes before, but he'd seen that want inside of them. It was so familiar that he could pinpoint that moment that they'd looked at him like that.

"_Don't leave me, please," she said._

"_I'll never leave you," he whispered gently. "I love you."_

Then it all went blank. Too sad a memory for even him to recall, he chose just to block it all out. Those were some of the last words he'd ever said to her, Ellie. He hated himself sometimes for making such an empty promise. No, he didn't leave her, but she certainly left him.

"Um," he breathed like an idiot, "I'm just looking around." He blinked to himself, begging to quit hallucinating. Minerva had nothing to do with what had happened in the past for him. She was merely standing before him with that first longing, then quizzical look. Unfortunately for him, he knew that stare well.

"So I see," she whispered more gently. For only a second, she looked at him. By this, he did not mean that she merely met eyes with him, no; she took him all in and then maybe saw something that he'd seen. Perhaps Minerva had just foreseen love or attraction or hate or heaven. Albus didn't know, he chose not to read thoughts most of the time. Whatever the case may be, he knew that she saw something just as he did.

Albus cleared his throat gently, but Minerva was the one to speak. "Are you hungry? I can fix something. Sandwich? Toast? Pancakes?" she shrugged.

He blinked. "Is that a real offer or just an attempt to lighten this awkward moment?"

She smiled softly. "It's a real offer."

"Well," he folded his arms, "I'll have whatever you're having."

The woman stared up at him, the beginning of any glare. "Do you like pancakes? I'll have my magic clean it up, so it isn't any trouble."

Albus nodded his head. Of course he liked pancakes! Who in their right mind didn't? Besides that, he thought he'd be in the right to eat what real meals he could. After all, pre-made sandwiches only tasted so good for so long.

"I'd love some."

Then they were off. Albus took the flour, Minerva took the bowl, and magic took the rest. One by one it was all piled into a giant bowl with an enchanted mixing spoon. Coincidentally, white powder was all over the newly cleaned kitchen, but it didn't seem to matter. That is, neither of them seemed to do anything about the mess. Maybe there was just too much going on otherwise.

They were a team. Minerva was the one who controlled the stove, completely by hand. The batter was poured by Albus (a man of absolutely no cooking skills) onto the pan. He watched with amazement as the woman flipped over gorgeously brown clusters of batter to make pancakes—not that he had anything else (or better) to do.

He rubbed his lips together as the intoxicating scent of pancakes filled the air. "Mmm," he sighed. "That smells really good."

She looked up at him, a wide smile on her face. "I seem to remember that you like to eat."

Albus nodded slowly. That he did. He loved food. "If you can cook, my dear, I don't think I shall leave you alone the two weeks that you are here. I'm like an insect; I follow the food."

"Well," she said smoothly, "I won't tell you that I can cook. It will be my secret."

Then she scooped the pancakes onto a plate and handed them to Albus. He looked between the two, really quite…well…aroused, if one wants to put it into those terms. Not only was he thankful for food, but he was incredibly thankful that the woman who'd made them did it for him.

Yes, she'd told him that it was a true offer to make pancakes, but he could see through that. The woman just wanted to be a good host. There weren't any brown fluffy clusters on Minerva's plate like there were on Albus'; she did not even have a plate. It was all for him.

They both sat down at the table across from one another. Albus ate slowly, merely because Minerva spoke to him in that time. She hadn't very much started the conversation the evening before, but it seemed that she was plenty ready to have a word or two with him while he was sitting at her table.

"What is it that you've been up to, Albus? You seem to know all about me, and I know so very little about you. I didn't even really know you as a student in the way that you seem to have known me."

He swallowed down a chunk of fluff. "Well, recently I've been collaborating with some friends at creating a few new potions. However less recently I worked at the school just as always. During the school year I sort of add pages to a book I'm working on, based on Transfiguration, but that's all. There's only so much time a professor has." The man smiled gently at her.

"Yes, you were always busy. You left quite often when I was a student to do ministry work. I was sad those days…mostly because Professor Stanwyck had to cover your classes. He didn't know what in Merlin's name he was doing."

The man chuckled. "Well my dear, he specializes in Arithmetic. You can't have honestly expected a productive class on those days."

"No," she shook her head, "but I was the teacher those days. _I _taught the class several of your lessons."

"And um," he half chuckled to himself, "how did that go, Minerva? I'm sure you were the talk of the class. You know I caught the other eight students writing a note in collaboration once or twice. It was when you were in your sixth year, I remember because you were a lesson ahead of everyone and the other boys were in their seventh year."

She raised an eyebrow. "Note?"

"Well my dear," he smiled knowingly, "You were the only girl in a class of nine. You do the math. You were the topic of the hour most of the time."

She rolled her eyes. "Well that explains why I had to repeat things about four times before any of them understood it, the dolts," she stopped and looked at Albus, "Did the boys really write notes about me?"

"Oh yes," he nodded, "I confiscated most of them, of course. It's very interesting, sometimes, to see how the teenage mind works." He felt like laughing out loud at the awestruck look the woman was radiating. She really had no clue. "Be thankful, Minerva, that you never saw them. You'd have blasted most of the boys into a million bits. Some of it was even too unadulterated for me. _Those_ notes went directly in the trash and were never seen again."

"Were they really that bad? I-I mean…I don't think I even so much as bumped into any of them."

He shrugged. "The teenage mind works in mysterious ways…that is, using hormones."

Minerva chuckled slightly. "Well I'm glad that I'm out of that stage in life then. I think those boys will be getting a good talk-to when I return. You know most of them work under me and I can do cruel and horrible things to them."

"Don't," he shook his head, "Hire someone to do it for you. In the end it's less messy."

She turned behind, looked at the messy counter and then back at him. "I think men are messy." Then she smiled teeth and all.

* * *

Thanks for reading.

I know there are about 200 people who have opened up my story, based on the hit counter, yet I only have gotten twenty reviews. It would make me happy if you could inform me on what you think of this chapter/story if you have not (or even HAVE) reviewed. Can you do that for me? After all, it's the holiday season.


	4. Glass Jar

Heylo everyone. Thank you SOOOOO much for the responses! They made me happy! yay. I hope this chapter will leave you as satisfied as the last one.

Not that it matters, but in my personal opinion, this chapter is one of the best (yes, I know what will happen at the end of the story) and I luv it to death. Which brings up another good point…if I'm not on time with the next post (2 weeks from now) then you may strike me down. I already have 4 pages written and have fallen in love with the storyline all over again…so the only reason that I won't finish writing the chapter is if the computer crashes or there is a life crisis among my family.

Good luck!

* * *

Chapter Four: Glass Jar

She was really quite surprised at how easily a smile rolled off her lips. For the first time in months she didn't have to _force_ herself to make a friendly gesture; to grin was second nature, at least in his presence. Minerva could completely blame it on the man, Albus, for he was really quite charming. He knew what to say and when to speak it. What made it better was the fact that he meant nothing by it. Minerva had no need to worry about him thinking less than honorable thoughts, thereby securing a comfort that hadn't been there with so many other men.

They'd spent the day chatting with one another, covering anything that held no importance whatsoever. Babbling, that's what they'd been doing. He spoke, then she spoke, and later they laughed. There was no reason to the drivel that had been verbalized, but it proved for good conversation.

"_I hate raisins," he said completely out of the blue while they were sitting underneath one of the many willow trees by the lake. _

_Minerva blinked for a fair few seconds, considering the operative response. Then she just shook her head and responded with a completely straight face. "Did you shove too many of them up your nose when you were a child? Suffer much brain damage?"_

"_I resent that!" He stuck his tongue out at the woman. "I'll have you know that the Daily Prophet has elected me the most intelligent man on the planet."_

_She raised an eyebrow while a smile played at her lips. "And you competed with how many people? Two? Three?"_

"_Think about Minerva…t-h-e p-l-a-n-e-t," he spelled it out. _

"_I can spell too," she looked at him innocently, "B-r-a-g-g-e-r."_

"_I resent that also," he leaned back against the tree, suddenly becoming less happy. "I do not brag…in fact, I don't even want all of these titles. Do you have any idea what it's like to have everyone know you? My life's ambition at this point is simply to get to the supermarket without being pointed at."_

_The woman nodded slowly, suddenly serious because of his depressing remark. Though he was brilliant, charismatic, and certainly humorous, it wasn't right for people to treat him in such a way. "That isn't right," she said gently, "you're a person just like the rest of them."_

_The man nodded. "I feel like I'm an animal at the London Zoo."_

_No, certainly no one deserved to be treated like an animal. "I'm sorry, Albus," she looked at him reassuringly, "But that's the price you pay for being brilliant. You know you deserve all of this recognition, though you don't want it." It's what she'd always told herself; people were just drawn to people who had something **more** to them. "That's what happens when you stand out."_

_He stared at her, maybe a little bit surprised. "And I suppose you know what it's like to stand out?"_

_Minerva nodded her head. Yes, she did as a matter of fact…she'd stood out her entire life and it was only getting worse with time._

_Albus stared for a few seconds; tick, tock, tick, tock. "Are you…treated like that at the department?"_

_She blinked, knowing she had no reason at all to lie. "I get stared at fairly often. It makes sense, I suppose." Minerva shrugged. "I'm a twenty-four year old working in a department where the usual minimum entrance age is thirty-five. I stick out like a sore thumb."_

_The man bobbed his head slowly, maybe understanding her reasonably quiet nature a little better. "But you're probably the only thing worthy of looking at in that place. People in our line of work typically worry more about the craft than their appearances…you just happen to be naturally pretty." _

A blush crept on her cheeks. He had said that intentionally earlier in the day, attempting to get some sort of flirtatious response. The man had not succeeded, though it was not from lack of intrigue on Minerva's part. While it was true that she had not ever been given such a response by someone interesting like Albus, things like that were said quite often to her at work.

There was only one major irregularity to her working where she did; her age. For a male, this would not be such a problem, considering the majority of the department is male. However, for Minerva, this was a hurdle in her life that was hard to get past. The men looked at her often, usually lusting for something that they would never get. Only the truly bold and desperate ones ever said anything to her, but they were the crowd that usually pushed her over the cliff.

Minerva _had_ always been beautiful and there was no other way to say it. Blessed with dark hair, a fair complexion, moon-like eyes, and high cheek bones, she'd always held the eye of onlookers. She was—in appearance—the epitome of female attraction to male lust.

However, she'd found over the years that attraction did not make relationships. If anything, it ruined them because in the end, all that there stood was that animal lust. And it only took one time to realize that there may be more animal than lover in that sort of relationship. The yelling, harsh words, and beating was not for her. No man ought to be worth that.

But Minerva still looked and hoped that there could be someone out there. After all, the life's ambition of all women was to fall in love, marry, and have children. Well, perhaps that was not even quite Minerva's life's ambition; she merely wanted someone to love. There was no place in her life for children and that would never change.

The woman blinked to herself, wondering for only a second. Albus was into his eighties and he certainly had no children. How could that possibly be? He was definitely a handsome man and obviously intelligent, so why did he lack a family? The man had mentioned earlier that many people knew him, but that couldn't stop him from having children and/or a wife. If anything, his status should have given him thousands of women to choose for a lover…yet there was no Mrs. Albus Dumbledore. Maybe he was one of those people out there who was destined to be alone, merely because there was no one worthy.

She mouthed the word slowly to herself. "Wor-thy."

"_Life is too short to start broken," he said gently into her ear. "You'd finish as a crumb of what you were."_

_She looked up at him with big eyes. She knew he could see very clearly her every emotion, thought, and dream, but she didn't care. He'd just said something that was very dear to her. And had he said it at a more emotional moment, it wouldn't have surprised her at all if he'd brought tears to her eyes._

_Albus knew her without knowing…then again, perhaps he did know. The man thought like she did. He dwelled on things more than he ought to, thought about what he could and shouldn't have done. Albus knew what it was like to allow regrets to chip at the soul. _

"_I feel so very small already," she shook her head, "like a rock at the bottom of the ocean."_

_His eyes grew wide in the seconds that passed, as if she'd…well, he looked almost as if his heart had just been broken. Then he snapped out of it, almost as quickly as it had come. The man shook his head gently. "What is so wonderful about the ocean anyhow? It's just another place for someone to get lost."_

"_Anywhere is a place to get lost, Albus," she whispered gently. She believed what she said, too. There was nowhere on the Earth that one could not get lost; the entire world was a void. _

_He seemed to think about her statement for a fair few seconds before nodding his head smoothly. "I suppose." The man turned from her and stared out at the lake, glimmering in the afternoon sun. "You feel lost, don't you?" he asked gently._

_Minerva nodded her head, completely forgetting that he was no longer looking at her. "My—my mother died about two months ago," she whispered. The words were falling out of her mouth, but she heard them as if someone else were speaking. Up until that point, she hadn't said anything to anyone about her mom. "And to be completely honest," she continued, "I don't know what to do with myself." _

_The man glanced back at her again, keeping his eyes on the woman. "I'm sorry…about your mother," he pushed the words._

_The woman shrugged. What was the point of apologies anyhow? There wasn't anything that anyone could do about what had happened. "It's all right," she said, "She'd been ill for almost a month before she died. I'd rather her have left than been in pain." _

"_That's wise of you," he nodded. "There isn't anything to gain by being greedy…especially when you're talking about the ones you love."_

_She nodded her head slowly. Love; such a wonderfully horrid word. It covered a great many number of sins: greed, jealousy, spite, regret. But nothing compared to the pain that came when it was all over—in any sense. In truth, Minerva willed herself to be greedy in those last fleeting moments where a connection still stood; if she could have, the woman would have captured love and placed it in a jar. _

_She would sit and stare at the glass, watching love's embodiment flutter around. It would attempt to get out, hit every wall as hard as possible, creating a mere 'tink' to the human ear. Then the personification would just give up at ever being released, drifting to the bottom of the jar, slowly becoming sadness. Some dream indeed; Minerva would have killed the very thing that she wanted to keep. _

_Perhaps that was why she had never tried to capture love; for fear of sadness. At least the way that things stood between her and her mother, Minerva could move on and remember happy times. If love were still in her possession, she was sure that sadness would have taken its place. _

_Minerva looked at him and blinked. She did not know what she wanted to say to him for she didn't understand herself. What came out of her mouth, however, surprised the both of them. She didn't know that such wit was in her. "Greed is the beggars only hope."_

"_Do you really believe that?" he asked softly. _

_The woman shrugged. No…yes…no. She didn't know what she believed. She'd read what she spoke somewhere, it had just been buried deep in her mind. The subject matter simply matched what was on her mind at the moment, thereby flowing out of her mouth. "I must," she whispered, "I don't believe I would have said it otherwise."_

_Albus nodded his head. "Greed is inside every human, no matter how good they may be; what decides that person's worth is whether or not they use it. It's wrong, Minerva," he added gently, "to use greed on those who love you."

* * *

_

Albus stared across the lake, not for the first or last time that day. The lights were glimmering as they always did in the evening. He knew she was awake, thinking about her day. After all, how could she not? All the man could think of was the woman.

He could not help himself; for whatever reason, Albus was very much taken with her. It wasn't just her eyes, though they certainly held a part in it. The attraction that he was beginning to feel reached deeper than physical appearances and went to what she had to say. Minerva was the kind of being that he would have fallen in love with when he was younger, merely because she thought of everything so…differently.

"_If you were to pick an ideal spot to fall in love, where would it be, Minerva?" Albus asked gently. He didn't ask to prod, but merely to understand the woman better. All women loved to fall in love and it had been his experience that the right scenery was ideal. After all, had it not been his first thought when he saw Minerva drifting on the boat that Hermit Lake would be a perfect place to have her—he didn't even know how old she was at the time—fall in love with him?_

"_I don't believe in love at first sight," she said matter-of-factly. It was almost as if she'd had practice answering the question, considering how quickly she responded. He wouldn't put it past her, either. Minerva seemed to have had plenty of chances to be with men. From what Albus could tell, she preferred to steer clear of them. _

"_All right," he nodded, "Fair enough. Where do you stand on love then?"_

_She blinked, quite unsure of how to respond—for the first time that he'd seen her. "In what sense?"_

"_Well," he turned his body to face her, "since you don't believe in love at first sight, I was wondering just what about love you do believe."_

_The woman thought about it for a fair few seconds and then looked up at him with dilated eyes. She gave the impression that she may have wanted to cry. It wouldn't have surprised Albus; from what he'd seen, there was damage that ran deeper than outer scars. "I think that it hurts people more than it helps. You're promised the world from someone and you promise it back. Then," she shook her head sadly, "it's ripped away from you…whether or not you're the one doing the ripping."_

_Albus stared blankly at her in those seconds that followed. The word was "ripped". God, yes…love liked to be ripped away from people. Some unknown force always seemed to tear apart lovers; it was the one unfair part of life which he could name._

"_May I ask what it is that gave you this outlook?" he asked softly._

"_You may ask," she whispered, "But I will not tell."_

Albus thought to himself over and over again about those words. When he had been staring at the woman on the dock earlier that morning, he had been right to think what he'd thought. Not only was she lonely, but she was very broken.

Her love life seemed to be quite at a loss, but even more so, she seemed to have gone astray from lack of guidance. She'd just lost her mother and had a father only a short while in her life. Minerva mentioned her mother several times over the course of the day, revealing something quite new each time. Among the things that she had said were that she had been something of a mentor, loved Minerva, and died before her daughter was able to say that she loved her.

Ah, yes…Albus knew how Minerva felt. True, both of his parents were still alive, but that didn't mean that he hadn't gone through that sort of heartbreak. He had. It had been…horrible. He'd left his fiancée for the ministry, only for a day or two. When he came back, she was no more. Her mangled body with blue skin and a tattered dress still showed inside of his mind in times of deep thought…not because he liked to remember her that way, but because it was the last time he got to see her eyes—unmoving, cracked, and sad.

Albus shook his head slowly and turned. Then he did something that he hadn't ever done before; he walked down the stairs, through the door, and out to the dock in the evening. He wandered slowly on the wooden planks, not merely for fear of splinters. His motive, completely unknown to him, had been endorsed by Minerva. For she was something that he was not, he realized. The woman was her own.

She belonged to no one—not in shape, mind, or spirit. Though he believed in his heart that she would be better off with someone that loved her, he also knew that she would never let herself be owned. Her life belonged to only her.

Albus saw only one flaw in this, her game of life. True, Minerva denied love at first sight, but she did not deny love. She believed in the term and what it could possess. Because of that, Albus could see that she did not want only herself. Minerva McGonagall looked lonely for a reason to be—to live—merely from a lack of love. The woman needed someone, if not for anything other than to keep her company.

"_Why will you not tell, my dear?" he asked. He was prodding, this time there was no denying it, but he was utterly curious. The woman had a way of making him interested, wondering about what she was thinking. It only irritated him when he couldn't get an answer from her._

"_Well," she sighed. The woman blinked and then stood up from where she was sitting. "Shall we walk and talk? I can't sit still any longer."_

_Albus nodded. Both of them knew that she was attempting to avoid the conversation, but he decided to play along with the game. After all, they'd been sitting under the tree for nearly the entire day; his legs were beginning to cramp. _

_So onward they went. Albus was on one side of the woman, not planning on taking his eyes away from her. Minerva chose to avoid his eyes for a very long time, though after several minutes it seemed not only impolite, but hateful. She looked up at his tall figure as they began the first obvious turn of the lake._

_He smiled gently down at her frame. Minerva was nearly a head shorter than he was, but held his attention just the same. Her braided hair had begun coming undone, thanks to the wind, flying every which way possible. The strands made her look really quite pretty as they swayed around her pale face. _

"_So?" he asked gently._

_The woman looked at him with a sad expression, obviously not wanting to respond. "Must I answer?" _

_He blinked casually. "I suppose not…but I would like you to." Albus stared at her with a careful eye. What he had to say was affecting her; all he had to do was look at her subtle expression to know. "As you probably know Minerva, I'm a curious person and I like to know all about people…my friends especially." _

"_Friend?" she looked away from his face and towards the ground._

"_Yes," he replied softly. If nothing else, she was certainly a friend of his. "I daresay you have crossed the friend threshold when one makes the other breakfast and they spend the day together, don't you?"_

"_I suppose," a soft smile crossed her face. He didn't know what she was thinking, but there was something sweet about her in that moment; perhaps it was the blush that crossed her face. Albus didn't dare ask her what was in her head though, whatever was going on in her mind in **that** moment was meant for only her mind. _

"_You suppose?" he half laughed. "You suppose a lot, did you know that? I'll try one now." The woman looked at him cynically as he continued. "Do you suppose that you might tell me how you got your attitude towards love?"_

"_I suppose I could," she blinked innocently, "but I won't. We can save that for another day."_

"_All right," he nodded, "then why won't you tell me?"_

_There was a short silence, much to the man's surprise. He had expected a quick, snappy response from her. Alas, there was a lack of such a thing. She looked down at the rocks of the shore, round, flat, shiny, and blunt. Minerva did not look up at him when she spoke next, but rather turned her head straight to where the lake seemed to never end. "Have you ever been hurt by someone, Albus?"_

"_Yes." He didn't even need to think about it. He'd been hurt only one real time in his life, but that was enough to torment him for eternity. _

"_Then you know how painful it is to talk about things," she said calmly. Her soft gray eyes looked up at him with a sad glow. The woman's skin almost seemed to have gone even paler than what it already was. The loose hair whipped at her disheartened face._

_Albus nodded. "I do; fair enough." He would have to think about her response for some time. Of course, he probably would never know what it was that gave her the opinions she had, but he could imagine it in his mind, in his own way; she'd just be crying by an open flame after someone broke her heart, unwilling to ever be her full self again. The man couldn't help but wonder if she had been chipped at by people, the way that they had spoken earlier in the day. Had it been love which undid the woman, made her opinions of life so very different from everyone else in the world?_

"_Why don't we move to a happier subject?" the man asked after a second or two of complete silence._

_Minerva's eyes grew just a wee bit happier. She didn't like dreary conversations anymore than he did; besides that, it didn't help that the conversations had been about her. "I should like that," she whispered mildly. _

_He ran his hand underneath his chin thoughtfully. "Where do you stand on rain?"_

"_Excuse me?" she looked at him as if he were crazy._

_The man shrugged. "Where do you stand on rain? Do you like it? Hate it? You see I get many different responses on this matter, mainly because of where we live." It was true…he did get many different answers. Most of the world seemed to hate rain, but there was always that special soul who found it refreshing in one way or another. Albus found it appropriate to ask the question, mainly because he was desperate for a new situation. Besides that…there was supposed to be a good shower within the next few days._

"_Well," she blinked, rather taken aback by the insanely odd question, "I like it on the weekends when I'm not working."_

"_And why is this?"_

_Another blush grew on the woman's face. "There's just something about rain that is…" she glanced up at him, "You know, I really shouldn't be telling my ex-professor this."_

_What couldn't she tell him? "We no longer hold a teacher-student relationship; I don't think we ought to even bring it up. As far as I am concerned, we are merely friends having an adult conversation."_

_Minerva rolled her eyes. "All right, but you have to promise not to tell anyone important."_

_The man nodded. "I promise."_

"_Very well," she sighed. "Rain is just…" she shrugged, "erotic, I suppose."_

_His eyebrows rose. That was certainly not the reply he had been waiting for. He suddenly became aware of how very close he had been walking beside her; he could have reached out for her hand and neither of them would probably even notice. Albus went a little bit behind the woman for fear of reaching an awkward moment._

"_Erotic, hm?" he asked gently, doing his best to avoid an image which had suddenly entered his mind. He saw her dark hair, glowing eyes, and delicate skin right next to him. Albus could see himself kissing her as the rain poured outside his home while a single candle twinkled in the background. It wouldn't have come if she had chosen a different word, but as it stood, he was unable to help himself. _

"_Yes, I believe that's the word." Minerva looked up at him and then back down at the floor. She had just told her Professor Dumbledore that she found rain sexually enticing; of course she could argue that it was her partner's doing for bringing up the subject. "Where do you stand on it, Albus?"_

_He blinked, trying to make the image disappear. "I love rain. It…it gives everything a chance for renewal."_

"_That's lovely," she whispered. "You think lovely thoughts."_

_The man nodded his head, not quite believing her statement; she had no idea what was happening with his neurons. "Thank you…but I must be inspired first." He looked down at her. Minerva, too, was staring up at him. _

_She was beautiful, the woman. There was just something about her that taunted him, made him want to see her smile. Maybe it was the light in her eyes, or simply her laughter. Whatever the reason, Albus was really quite sure in that moment that he had begun to fall for Minerva McGonagall…a woman almost sixty years younger than him—and beautiful to boot._

The man looked at his dark reflection, barely visible in the deep lake water. Albus sat down at the edge of the dock, same as Minerva had done earlier in the morning. Then he made a large round-about with his eyes, turning first to the sky, then to the water, and finally towards the lit house infront of him. And he wondered…just wondered what it would be like to love such a woman as her.

* * *

sighs…Thanks for reading. I hope to hear from you! 


	5. Minerva

See! I told you that it would be on time:) I can't promise 2 weeks for the rest of the chapters. Damn school is kicking my butt…PLUS softball...plus computer is still spas-ing out. Anywho…if and when I have the time, I'll start trying to reply to your reviews via email.

While we're at it...thank you: gahhMinerva, kidarock, Alesia G, SherbetKitty,Zoeteproet, Hogwarts Duo, Becca, alix33, Holly (), and Lady Loraine

* * *

Chapter Five: Minerva

It was a foggy morning again, not that it surprised Minerva. She believed that it was fog's habit to be present near bodies of water, not to mention where the humidity was high. The entire world seemed as if a cloud had come to land and refused to let anyone find their way. Her place of current stay was as ominous as anything could get.

The simple fact that it was foggy meant very little to the woman, however. True, she could not see very far infront of her, but she only needed an arm's length. Minerva could follow the shoreline, constant and quite beautiful, even in the morning dreariness.

She was bent on being alone for the earlier part of the day, though she could not really quite figure why. Minerva had simply woken up and told herself to go, for outside there would be beauty, life, and eventually, sunshine; she missed all of the elements very much—perhaps the scenery had been her reasoning for going to Hermit Lake.

Minerva pulled her favorite cloak over her sleeping gown and walked outside of her home. It was not chilly outside; after all, it was in the dead of summer. The weather was really even quite warm. However, even the morning wave didn't make her scenery less eerie. The weeping willows were still, the water rippled here and there when fish jumped, and the twigs cracked underneath her feet as she made her way towards the shore. Not a bird chirped or a duck waded; the world, for the moment, seemed dead.

The woman held her wand tightly between her fingers as she began walking slowly to the southeast. It was really a stroll more than a walk, you see. Minerva saw no need to hurry. There wouldn't be a sun to burn her for some time and she was in a beautiful place, even if the world seemed to take on a different representation. It was in the woman's nature to find the beauty in what she saw, though the fog clouded the structures.

The truth was that she had gotten too far away from herself over time and it was not something that the woman liked. Minerva found herself to be cynical, haughty, and far too methodical in everything that she did.

She'd been happy once, really she had. A time before, perhaps three years, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her life. She had a wonderful job, where she worked above people so high as four times her age (she'd been twenty-one then) which she was perfectly qualified to do so. There had even been friends then that she adored. And there was a man…he seemed so perfect.

His name was Edwin. There was nothing crude or horrid about him. The man was a gentleman who pushed in his date's chair, opened the door, and was always polite. He had a mind of his own, too. He got along famously with Minerva at work. Yes, she couldn't help herself; he was one of her associates.

It was only a few months before he proposed to her. Gladly, Minerva of course said yes. They were happy together for a short while after that. That is, until he came to her door one cold night in January.

She could smell the scent of alcohol on his clothes; they radiated like nothing she'd ever seen. His eyes were yellow and his face red. He spoke like any other drunkard would—maliciously, scathingly. "Hello there lass," a snide smile hung on his lips, "What are you up to tonight?" He leaned against the doorway.

Minerva took a step back. No, she didn't want to believe what she saw...that was her lover. She'd never thought that there would be a day where her perfect Edwin would look so…filthy. But even more so than the alcohol and dirt which had somehow found its way on his clothes, there was also a fire in his eyes. No, it wasn't a lover's fire; that was a drunken fire, a dangerous one. Minerva had known fear once or twice in her life, but she'd never been as scared as she was when his eyes met hers. He approached her slowly as he walked through the door.

She took one step back, he took one forward, she went back, and he stepped upwards. This manner continued until she was clear up against the wall. His hands pressed hard on her hips, making her wholly secure. He smiled, knowing damn well that she wasn't going anywhere. Then he whispered into her ear very roughly. "Guess what?"

Minerva didn't dare answer. He went on anyhow, the drunken fire growing fiercer in his eyes. "You, Miss McGonagall, are going to a new department. And I am stuck down here."

The woman stared at him with wide eyes. "W-what?"

His fist ignited with her waist. All air in her system was thrust out and all that was left was pain. Instinctively, she grabbed her stomach while choking for air. He stepped away from her, malice in his eyes. "I've been working in that department for ten years! Ten damned years!" He hit her again in the stomach, then on the face.

She fell to the floor on her shins with a cry. Her arms cradled her stomach protectively as the tears streamed down her face.

"And how long have you been there! Two! Damn you, Minerva! They all told me that you'd be the death of me. Little Miss Perfect," he spat. "I never thought I'd resent you!" He stomped on her back, sending metallic pain all across the woman's body. A shriek escaped her this time, echoing in the empty room and onto the empty street.

Tears were leaking down her face which refused to look up at the man, drunk and deadly. She barely even made out the long piece of wood which had fallen from the nightstand, probably from the first time he hit her. It was only a blur, a long, bland blur; but it was enough. Minerva reached up infront of her and grasped the wood. Then through uneven vision, she pointed the wand at him, and whispered some very simple words, "_Petrificus Totalus". _The man fell with a thump.

And Minerva? Her world went completely blank.

The woman looked through the trees of the lake and towards the sunrise. There were only streaks of reds and violets in the sky, but it was enough to tell her that she'd been outside for at least half of an hour. As it seemed, however, she felt no need at all to return to her home so soon. After all, it looked like it would be a beautiful day, that is, since the fog began to disappear. Also, in all fairness, she felt it better to consider her life in the solemnity of her own company.

She walked only a few more steps before approaching a rather large boulder by the lake's edge. Minerva climbed up and sat at the top of the element. There were fish now, playing in the water along with the frogs and ducks. The woman supposed that it was all due to the sunrise; it was the sign for all life to wake. For whatever reason, she was glad to see such a thing. Her somberness was only cured by happy things, as pitiable as it seemed.

Minerva blinked to herself, allowing just a tiny tear to slide down her cheek. It shouldn't have hurt still, but it did—at least emotionally. She ran her hand up her back which was in perfect alignment, then her faultless jaw, and finally her stomach. The woman had been fixed, so to speak by the potions, but there was damage there that couldn't ever be mended.

It was two days—almost three—after that night when she awoke inside a hospital bed. Minerva was not at all with her wits when she finally opened her eyes, but she saw the world differently, perhaps her mother was to blame.

She'd never forget that smile that crossed her mum's face; her eyes lit up and her lips seemed to have reached almost to the ears. The woman started crying when Minerva's eyes opened, but still immediately screamed for a nurse, calling frantically. Then she had turned kindly to Minerva, drawing her hand over her daughter's arms—the only usable part of her body which had not been damaged.

"Don't go back to sleep, stay awake, Love," her mother whispered, almost shaking. "Please, Minerva. Talk to me until she gets here."

It felt as if she had been put through a sleeping potion and rested for hours on end. She was the best that she had ever been, though perhaps a little bit slow in understanding what was asked of her. As such, Minerva took a very long blink. She didn't remember anything recent; nothing of Edwin. Later on, the diagnosis was amnesia.

"Is it sunny outside?" she asked. When she had been a child, it was one of her favorite things to ask her mother. No one who knew her after the accident would have known it, but once upon a time Minerva very much liked to play outside by the trees of her home. However, she was rarely let out onto the soggy grass.

"Yes, dear," her mother nodded her head as a tear leaked down her cheek. "Everything is bright outside. Nothing could be dark since you're all right."

Minerva had the mind of a child once again. She saw the simple things before her, like sadness and hope. The woman saw the sun, too, wanting nothing more than to go and play in it for that one moment. So she reached out—in her younger mind—and grasped her mother's hand. The girl smiled gently. "Don't cry," she whispered, "Papa doesn't like it when you cry."

The woman still wondered what it was that made her say it. Her father had died when she was young, about six. Minerva had been at the curious stage at the time and looked for answers from her distraught mother. The girl's mom would always say that her Papa—that had been her name for him—was watching them from the sky and wanted them to be happy. So from then on, whenever the tiny six year old wanted to misbehave or cry, her mother would always refer to her father. And that one time, she was able to reverse the roles; her mom was crying while her daughter held no fear—or more rightly, alertness.

But Minerva had become quite aware a while after that. It only took several months for her to fix her damaged memory. Somehow all the events of her life fell into place and she could recall everything. She remembered her mother and father and friends. Minerva was also able to recollect events and school. In truth, she was happy to evoke all of this, but she held no wish to keep in her mind what led to and followed her stay in St. Mungo's.

It was horrible, what she had to relive time and time again. There was always pain, always when she attempted to recall what happened. She'd tried many times to create her own fictitious idea of what happened that night when Edwin came, but thus far, there was no denying what actually occurred. He beat her just long enough to scar her.

* * *

Albus slid himself gently into the lake water, knowing he had a high possibility of freezing to death where he stood. Though the sun had been up for one or two hours, there was no denying that _warmth_ would not enter the liquid until it was ready to set again. After that, the water would take its normal course and become nearly freezing again. What a vicious cycle it was, indeed.

The man placed his wand gently on the boat deck, after conjuring a floatation device for himself, and put a magical barrier between it and the rest of the world in order to keep it out of the lake. He pushed himself away from the dock while holding tightly to the device which he had created. Albus kicked for a very long time, that is, until he was in the middle of the lake. There, he just _floated_: back, stomach, arms—take your pick.

He enjoyed the sun blazing down on his skin; warmth was needed, not preferred. The heat comforted him in a way that nothing else could. There was something calming in the fact that there would always be an orb in the sky, giving heat to his body.

The sun made him think clearly, or perhaps, not at all. Whichever affect it was, he fell into his own seductive thoughts which had nothing at all to do with what was right or wrong or idiotic, but rather himself. Albus chose to think of allurement while he was in the company of water and sun, maybe a dangerous game to a man such as him. But he saw no reason why he should not; after all, there was no one near who would read his thoughts.

He saw very clearly in his mind the water, a boulder, himself, and a woman. Of course they were swimming, he and the girl. In his mind, they'd been swimming all day, enjoying the beautiful scenery before them. She was wearing only her undergarments, lacy and delicate. No, she didn't mean to, but she certainly taunted him. What could he do, other than lust, while such a perfect creature as she was gliding across the water in so little?

Of course it was his intention—he always got his way in his fantasies—to take her out from the center of the lake and lead her to a special spot. The place, so to speak, was a decent swim away from where they were, but they played tag and flirted the entire way. When they got there, her face lit up.

It had once been a mermaid's city, back before the lake had been an ocean. Smooth rocks, abandoned jewelry, even some trinkets left from their early living covered the ground which they approached together. The woman's eyes shined as she looked about the place, somewhere that Albus had been many different times. She even so much as got out of the water to look in the almost cave-like structure.

Naturally Albus stayed behind, looked at what was available to him, undeniably meaning her. Oh, she was beautiful. Gorgeous dark hair, virginal skin, and a perfect figure were all assets which sucked him towards her. He knew that if she turned around, she'd have those silver eyes, staring at the man playfully.

He couldn't lie about what happened next, even if he wanted to. While Albus generally pretended to be strong, he was no different than any other man; he wanted her. The man got slowly of the water and approached the woman, gently sliding his hand over her shoulder to cup her breast. He could feel her shudder a cool, needy wave of excitement. His other hand gently moved away her long hair from her neck while his mouth went to it like a magnet.

"Albus," she moaned as his now free hand traced down her stomach.

"Let me make love to you," he whispered into her ear. He needed her in that moment, that beautiful woman. In all truth, the man didn't believe that he'd ever ache to release himself upon a girl, not nearly as badly as he was. He felt as if he'd explode unless he drove himself into her. Merlin knows he did a good job of letting her know that too, pressing his waist to hers.

"Where?" she whispered hoarsely.

A smile crossed his face. The rocks around them were too damn perfect for words; he spoke slowly into her ear. "Back in the water."

She turned to look at him, a mix of passion and confusion on her face. "Water?"

The grin grew wider. He pushed his mouth to hers, enveloping it completely. His hands followed down her waist and to the bottom-most part of her back. The man grasped the tip of her thighs and lifted her up to where her legs were wrapped around him. Then he took only a few steps, too few to really take notice of, and pressed her against the flat rock at the edge of the lake.

Albus blinked slowly to himself in real life, knowing it would be wrong of him to go any farther. In recent years, he had been making love to a faceless woman; his new fantasy was not as such. Minerva. It had only been a few days, really just one and a half, yet…he wanted her. Albus rarely wanted to bed anyone, but he was vehement for her, wanting nothing more than to ravish her on the floor, bed, kitchen, shore.

She was beautiful and intelligent; the perfect combination. Albus could not say no to his primal instincts in regards to Minerva; there was just _something_ about her. The man could not put his finger on what it exactly was, but she held his attention like no woman had. Maybe it was her laugh, or voice…or her face…or her eyes. He could drown in those eyes and not care whether or not he came back to life. Albus could just die if her stare was the last thing he ever saw and be a happy man.

He couldn't develop a relationship with her, he knew, not to the extent that he wanted; in any case, he didn't even have the obligation to romance the woman. Minerva was attacked often enough by idiot men; it was not his position to take their place. To pass the time, Albus simply decided that he would sit and contemplate and dream. Though he had to admit…well, God, she was beautiful.

* * *

Minerva walked back along the river's edge towards her house. There was a new rush of waves, which there had seemed to a lack of earlier in the day. The swish of the water hitting the rocks echoed in her brain as soft, repetitive notes.

The woman looked out towards the lake for movement.

There was someone in the middle of the mass, floating and kicking. A gentle smile crossed the woman's face. It was Albus. He was out swimming, the crazy man. She liked him for that though—his fanatical ways. The water was not only littered with leaves and twigs, but it was still early enough in the day to where it would be absolutely freezing to so much as put in a toe. Minerva didn't believe that she would be surprised if he received a cold within the next few days.

With a grin on her face, she approached the dock by her house and sat at the edge. She watched him float for a manner of minutes, though he didn't seem to be too utterly coordinated in the water, tossing and turning every now and then in awkward strokes. Why, it seemed as if he were a fish who had suddenly forgotten how to swim. Minerva giggled thoughtfully to herself. It would be rather entertaining if she were to turn him into a fish…she wondered delightedly whether he'd be able to navigate his way to her dock. And, if this amazing event occurred, she'd watch him flail about, unable to demand her to change him back.

Maybe she could grab a hook and a strand of wire to see what he did…

The woman rolled her eyes. It had been a very long time since she had such a very amusing idea. Maybe it was the man who brought it out of her. After all, he was an unconventional person who, at the same moment, was too utterly normal to even speak of it. Really now, who asked someone what they thought of _rain_ in an everyday conversation? But, she argued, perhaps it was something that ought to be asked; life's moments shouldn't be margined by family, work, and salutations.

Minerva continued to stare out at the lake. She blinked to herself after about five minutes, suddenly realizing that there was no Albus visible in the water. Her heart sank and body grew rigid. He'd been in the middle of the lake—there was no way that he could have swum to his home and out of sight so very quickly.

The woman stood up from where she had been sitting and looked out onto the water for the man. There wasn't a ripple or a wave, nothing that would indicate any movement whatsoever. The place was silent, save for the rapid beating inside the woman's head. Thump. Thump. Thump.

She called for him loudly, bringing her hands to her mouth, "Albus! Albus! Albuuuuuus!" Nothing. No response came. With that, her breath grew tight, so tight that she could barely breathe. She pulled out her wand with shaking hands. Millions of spells flooded through her mind but none seemed correct; it was as if mix-matched puzzle pieces have found their way into her head and couldn't be put together. Frantically, she looked everywhere she could to be reminded of what she needed. Then it came to her. She raised her wand and opened her mouth slowly, "Di—"

_Swish._

The woman looked over herself, suddenly covered in water from head to toe. Then she sought the instigator of the flood, who ironically, was only a person's length away from her on the side of the dock. He was laughing at her—a full belly shaking laugh. His cries of amusement echoed loudly in her ears.

"Albus!" she yelled angrily, bringing her fisted hands to the side of her. "You bloody git!"

The man covered his mouth, though did not cease the laughter. "Now Minerva," he chuckled, "I do believe you've been caught."

"And I do believe you've just gotten me soaked!" She stood at the dock and glared at the man. Why in hell had she just been thinking about how wonderful a person he was? She was covered from head to toe in water while wearing not robes, not even a dress, but a sleeping gown! "Look at me!" she yelled.

"I am looking," he continued to smile, "And you've been spying on me for the last ten minutes."

She folded her arms over her chest, quite aware of how cold she was. Minerva glared at the man, keeping all words that were flooding through her head away from her lips. It wasn't long at all before his smile started to fade. It wasn't funny.

She had thought he'd drowned…and instead he had been swimming to the shore in an attempt to have some fun. Well, what fun had he accomplished? She was soaked and angry, and he was no longer on her good side. "I'm glad this was amusing to you," she said quietly, "But not all of us share your sense of humor," she said in a boldly cynical way.

With that, she began walking in the direction of her house. The dirt sloshed underneath her sopping wet shoes with every step she took. When she looked back, there were mud tracks leading all the way up to her point of existence—it made her all the more angry to see it—damn men—there was a reason she stayed away from them.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear her name being called by Albus, vaguely audible. She just shook her head and kept on walking—though it didn't do much good. Somehow, the voice got closer to her along with hard lunges. She made no attempt whatsoever to speed up her pace, although she certainly should have. The man's hand grabbed hers and pulled her back.

"I'm sorry," he said kindly enough.

Minerva blinked, not particularly wanting to talk to him at the moment. Something else, however, took hold of her besides the anger that he had brought upon the woman. She was suddenly looking at…a man. Water dripped from his red hair—which was near his blue eyes—and onto his chest. The drops then followed a carefully made path to his knickers. The woman looked up at his face and swallowed. A handsome intellectual; that's how she'd thought of him when she was at Hogwarts.

"That wasn't very considerate of you," she whispered slowly.

"I know," he nodded, "It was a bad idea that just popped into my head. You know how people do dumb things when ideas come to mind."

She nodded.

Minerva took a step away from the man, suddenly very conscious of how near she was to him. She knew what sort of trouble could arise if she stood close to him for very long. It wasn't that she didn't trust Albus; the woman didn't trust herself.

* * *

It's out there.

Review please? I've never a) written any sort of violent scene and b) been so scared from reading my own writing. lol.

No, seriously…an attraction has finally been established. And don't worry…next chapter will pick up right from here.

—Minni


	6. Candles

ugh. sorry guys. can't say much more than that. school and softball are officially kicking my butt. update range at this point is between 3 weeks and 5. sorry!

Happy President's Day my fellow Americans! well...belated President's Day. I tried to update last Monday, but for some reason, the site wouldn't accept my update.--insert sad face--sorry again!

thank you everyone who has read my story thus far! You're wonderful!

* * *

Chapter Six: Candles

The truth was that she hadn't loved in three years. Perhaps it was inconceivable to the everyday person, maybe it was outrageous, but it was not a lie. There had been no one. Minerva allowed herself to get only so close to someone before breaking away from them. In all honesty, that's why she cried when he—whoever _he_ may be—left her. It was her own fault; she drew someone close and then thrust them away.

But none of the men ever quite grabbed her in the way that Albus had. He just stole her, in that one moment, away from herself. Minerva was suddenly staring at a man who she was drawn towards by some unknown, awesome force. From his eyes to his lips to his chest, she was reminded, only reminded, of what sort of feelings lust could give to a person.

Minerva took a long gulp of nothing other than air. "Apology accepted," she whispered. Then she started walking herself back towards her house with not another word. Behind her, she could hear the man's footsteps, uncomprehending and slow.

"Minerva?" he asked from several feet behind her.

The woman silently spun herself around to face the man. He had a sincere face. It was almost as if he…wanted to say something but couldn't. Compelling as it was to see him with such an expression, Minerva didn't feel at all as if she had never seen it. She smiled gently at the man and nodded.

"I know I've been raving on what a horrible chef I am," he started, "but I was wondering if you might want to come over this evening for dinner. It will make up today and my behavior." The man shrugged sympathetically.

She shook her head slowly; she didn't care that she was wet anymore. There had suddenly been something more important to draw her mind towards, and he was standing before her, looking into her eyes with orbs of the sky. Nonetheless, the woman said quite carefully, "You've already been forgiven, Albus." She wanted to stop it there, not finish her treacherous sentence, but she continued with an odd sense of pleasure, "But if you're offering anyhow, I don't suppose it would be wrong of me to agree. You need someone to make sure that you don't burn your house down." Minerva smiled at him.

Albus chuckled gently. "I'll need the help too. What of six?"

A grin was her first reaction and a nod second. "I'll be there."

The man nodded his head gently. "Then I shall see you this evening, Miss McGonagall."

"Good bye," she whispered softly as he began walking away with his back towards her, red hair beginning to shine by the sun.

His final words rang in her ears, echoing in every empty space which she possessed, _Miss McGonagall_.

* * *

"Idiot," he looked at himself in the mirror. His blue eyes were unwavering, red hair unforgiving, and posture impudent. He could have beaten himself—Merlin knows he wanted to. There were so many things wrong about asking her for dinner, the fact that he couldn't cook at the bottom of the list.

He'd just looked at her, Minerva, and it came out of his mouth. There was hardly even a second of thought and it flooded out of his wide open trap. He spoke it because of her. She was so very angry and Albus was feeling dreadful for putting her into that mood. So yes, he did it because he wanted to make her feel better, but on the other hand…well, he saw in her that same old resemblance. It was hard for the man to get those eyes out of his mind; he had not seen them so full of life in so very long. It was only natural for him to react so tactlessly.

No, it was not thoughtless for him to have invited the woman to dinner, it was tactless of him to have seen her in the way that he had in those few moments. She looked so very beautiful and he was seized with a longing. Well, perhaps more a memory than a longing. Oh, how he wondered what love would look like in Minerva's eyes! He'd seen it before—on someone else.

Albus looked down to the dresser drawer, slowly pulled the knob, and was immediately met with a face, covered in dust. He drew his hand over the glass, wiping away the years. His finger fell and stood on the woman's eyes. He remembered…he remembered the last time he looked at those eyes; they were as plain as the ocean itself.

There had been numbness to them, that morning that they found her. But it was only to be expected; after all, the waters had preserved her figure for the hours which she had been missing. The salt attacked and purged and killed every fiber of her being, but God granting, her eyes were left perfectly well enough alone. They were glassy and sad, looking dead ahead, but seeing nothing at all. Such was the stare of Eleanor.

Alas, her eyes were not nearly the most heart wrenching—though they were what had often woken Albus in the middle of the evening—for there had indeed been a head, neck, limbs, and torso to stare. Her skin had been a pale blue, a mix of the sky and the grayest of gray. A pretty picture it did not make, not when it complemented her tightly knit limbs, skewed monstrously in every direction. It was as if the ocean had eaten the bones beneath her sickly skin and left the rest for the sand, for it was in the sand that they found her.

The waves had brought her up over the course of the evening—she'd been missing the night before—and left her for all to see as they continued to thrust their mighty power upon her, scraping her flesh along the pebbles of the beach. The sand had begun engulfing her by the time dawn came; half of her body was hardly even visible. The heavy brown of the beach paid no heed to the fact that there were people looking for her and ate to its own delight. Why, even the beach crabs had started snapping along her feet. The beach waited for no one and took what it could.

Oh, how Albus wished that he could have been the one to have been put through such an ordeal. For years he'd tormented himself over the images that Ellie must have seen before she died.

It looked perfectly harmless from the outside, but underneath, it was a world of avarice, the water. Its currents were hungry for life, tossing and turning every which way in the hopes of grabbing another for its appetite.

He could see it ever so clearly in his mind, what must have happened. She liked to go to the side of the cliff where there were little pools filled with clams and crabs—it had been fun to the girl. Then a wave came, much bigger than her and with its own force. It took her, dragged her, away from safe land and into the massive ocean. The sea would have pushed her down with its giant thumb, onto the bottom where the current was most strong, reeds were most wild, and rocks were most abundant.

Then it would have pulled her like a string pulls a kite. She must have fought with all of her might to get back up, but the giant thread of current drew her away. Down into the blue, flailing, she would have been taken. And Eleanor would not have had a chance.

Albus wondered quite often how she must have felt, staring through the water onto the sky, where the sun shone so very brightly, but was very much out of reach. He wondered what she had thought of in those last fleeting moments. Had she relived her entire life in those last instants? Did she remember that she enjoyed the sea? Or had the woman recalled that she would never see the man she loved again?

Those dead eyes didn't look upon him when he found her upon the rugged sand. Their somberness simply held present, glistening in the morning's inept sunlight.

* * *

Minerva stared at herself in the mirror. Her pale skin greatly contrasted the black dress which she wore and her tightly woven hair. Even her lips seemed to be the exact opposite of her skin, showing a natural pink. The woman's eyes glowed, more so than she could hardly even remember seeing.

She felt beautiful.

No, Minerva did not completely understand herself. It was only dinner, a simple meal, but somehow, she felt compelled to dress for splendor.

She would be lying if she said that Albus had nothing to do with it because he most certainly did. The woman knew that in the back of her mind, she had become attracted to him. And—she'd argued with herself about this subject many times over the course of the day—it was not simply a physical attraction. She'd been lusting for his type of mind for years. He offered to her an insight, a _response_ to things that she did and did not wonder about. The man gave her sanity in a world that had seemed insane before him. Minerva had begun to smile again.

The memory of how very sad and desperate she had been before she came to Hermit Lake had somehow been obliterated in the two days which she had spent with Albus. There would be no sadness while she had a friendship in him.

The woman blinked as a foolish smile crossed her face. Had it not been her first thought after he left only a few days before that he was what she needed? Certainly it had been. And it was for sure that he would continue to hold her eye and make her happy. When he was simply _there,_ everything felt…right.

"Right," she whispered to herself. After looking over her appearance once more, she quickly apparated to the back door of the man's home. The woman knocked slowly, feeling a surprising flood of the jitters. Minerva was nervous—and without reason. It was only dinner. Dinner! She swallowed down the air which she breathed and waited for the man to open the large door.

When it moved open slowly, she was caught rather off guard with what she saw. He had made a clothing change as well. Blue robes—the kind that matched his eyes—dragged lightly on the floor, complementing everything that was good about him.

He seemed rather surprised as well to see her in such an outfit for his brow raised ever so slightly. A surprised, perhaps interested, smile overcame his face. "Minerva," he nodded gently without another word.

She let herself walk through the threshold and took a long glance at the sight of his house. Her breath, already on a standstill, completely stopped at the door when she realized the greatness of his home. It was so spacious that there seemed to no furniture in the place at all—the massive piano in the corner seemed invisible in comparison to the rest. The view which she was given went from the door, to a neatly set table, and about three times that length to a door. It was an outsized and intimidating place.

The woman blinked gently and then looked up at the man, "It's nice of you to ask me here," she whispered with undeniably surprised eyes.

The man's smile warmed Minerva's daunted figure, "It's my pleasure," Albus whispered with a gentle air. He looked at Minerva with kindness, eyes twinkling gently. He was doing it again, much like the first night that she spent at Hermit Lake, peering. His gaze, intense and curious, met hers and seemed to see right into her deepest secrets.

For a moment, only a moment, she forgot to breathe and was left alone with his diamond-like eyes. Lost, that was the word.

She tore her gaze away from his after realizing what was happening to her and looked to the kitchen where there wasn't so much as a fire ablaze on the stove. The woman blinked slowly, adding it all up together. Wasn't she there for dinner? "Albus?" she blinked.

"Yes?"

"You don't have on the flames," she whispered, gaze slightly transfixed on the candles that were floating above them. How she hadn't seen them in the first place, she didn't know. There was no artificial light anywhere; candles flooded the place.

Albus let out a little chuckle. "Rather ironic statement, Miss McGonagall," he said, referring of course to the candles. "But you are correct. I had just finished lighting the place when you came. I haven't had time yet to turn on the stove."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. Despite the floating candles, the room was relatively dim. Normally, this would have worried her, but worry was certainly not her first reaction, for in that second, she realized something: she was on a date. Of course she had known before that she would be eating dinner with a man that she found attractive, but the impact of what lay before her suddenly hit with a penetrating strike. He was dressed nicer than she could ever remember him looking during the school year and there was a grin on his face.

Twiddling the age old charm on her necklace between her fingers. "I'm in no hurry," she responded with a soothing voice that she didn't even realize she had.

* * *

"That's good," he whispered, mesmerized, "because if you'll remember, I only move quickly when I have to…like when the Headmaster is rating my class."

A smile fell on her face, her sweet, pale complexion.

He liked that grin and the way that she shook her head gently. She remembered that day, he supposed. He had been teaching rather slowly that week; the actual subject of transfiguration was held off for one or two days—to be replaced by quidditch. Unfortunately for his miserable class, Headmaster Dippit came in to grade his teaching abilities for a day. It was a horrifically amusing day in the end.

Albus covered about a week's worth of material in forty-five minutes and talked as if he had been put under a fast forward charm—as one was referred to in slang. The only student who had retained anything of course was Minerva. In all truth, she saved his sorry self from getting into trouble, maybe even probation.

"Thank you, by the way," he nodded.

The woman blinked. "What for?"

"That day that Armando—" he blinked and corrected himself, "Professor Dippit rated me. Your intelligence saved me my job."

She shook her head slowly. "All I did was _my_ job," she whispered, "It wasn't anything you should thank me for. Though, I must say, you were rather a remarkable sight. Do you always talk quick when you're nervous?"

The man nodded. He sounded like a tipsy elf when he was anxious. "What are you like when you're nervous?" Albus was profoundly curious on this particular subject. Minerva seemed to be rather good at hiding her emotions. The only reason that he knew anything about her was her eyes; they were the only indicator of any sort of emotion when she didn't freely express it.

Minerva looked up at him, carefully surveying her two options: answer or don't. In the meantime, her hand had started tracing her sapphire charm along the chain of her necklace and lips had come together almost as if she were a pouting child. Albus was utterly seduced by her movements, as insignificant as they may be; he swallowed down the impulse to say something stupid.

"I stutter," she said gently, "and my cheeks get red."

He smiled reassuringly. She wasn't very different from the rest of the world, save for the fact that she was one who could rarely be nervous. "I'll bet you look just lovely when you stutter," he nodded his head slowly.

She let a toothless grin fall upon her lips, along with a slightly pink tint on her usually pale face. Minerva looked best that way, he was sure of it. There was just enough color to make her seem real, but not enough to let him realize that he was living in a memory; a bittersweet dream. The flames' light blew across her smooth skin, dancing as the seconds passed.

Albus cleared his throat and looked towards the kitchen. "Well then," he sighed, "I'll go and light the fire. Dinner shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes to cook. I'm making you something special, direct from France."

An eyebrow was raised on her face, "I thought you couldn't cook."

"I can't," he shrugged, "But this is something even an idiot can make. It's called a croque monsieur. You butter two slices of bread, put a piece of cheese between them, and then stick it in the oven. It's a fool-proof meal."

* * *

"Minerva, help me!"

She watched the man from the kitchen table as he beat down the fire with a blanket. There was an amused smile on her face. Fool-proof, he'd said? The kitchen was a disaster! Flames were still flailing out of the oven, ashes still smoldering in the corner, and smoke flying here and there. Minerva had just entered a war field and he'd said his plan was fool-proof? The irony!

And to make matters even more entertaining, he was not extinguishing the fire with water, no—the git—he was beating it with a blanket! Thrashing it about was his method, not only inappropriate, but idiotic.

So it was thus that Minerva had a smile upon her face. That man was _not_ meant for cooking.

"Minerva!" he called again as the flames caught hold of the blanket.

The woman rolled her eyes and then pulled out her wand. "_Aquario_," she whispered gently. Immediately, water flew out of her wand and hit the blanket, then the rest of the smoky kitchen.

The man turned to look at her with stunned eyes. He said not a word and neither did Minerva. When he blinked, she blinked. When he shook his head, she shook hers. Carefully, Albus made his way across the littered kitchen and over to the table where she was sitting. The man sat next to her silently, then offered the only thing he could, "Why in Merlin's name did you let me try to cook?"

Sigh as she did, there was only one logical answer. "Because you were bent on it."

"I'm bent on many things, my dear. Still, others have the good sense to stop me from doing something idiotic."

"Well," she smiled softly, "I happen to believe in the motto 'learn from your mistakes'," she whispered. Why her voice had gone down, she didn't know. "And besides that, I have to admit that I did not believe you when you said you were in a bad way with the kitchen."

"Do you believe me now?" he glanced at the black kitchen.

She nodded her head. Of course she believed him. If she hadn't been there, he could have _really_ done some damage to something. For Merlin's sake, if he had kept on with that blanket, he could have killed himself. Why it only took the wrong movement and the flame could have caught hold of him. Fire was not something with which people should mess. Fire burned.

There was a long silence that held no explanation. Whether it was confusion, memory, embarrassment, or simply the inability to find words, there seemed to be no attempt whatsoever to bring about conversation. The quiet was long—felt as if it took forever—it perhaps stole five minutes away from their mortal lives, Albus and Minerva.

Though, one could not help but wonder if it was best that way. Many things, including thoughts, were better off left untouched, forever displaying the qualities of being quiet and enigmatic. And as far as expressing those reserved thoughts? Expression, she had found, was too reprehensible an act for any human to commit. Edwin had taught her that.

In the months they spent together, she dared not hide her total and complete love for the man. She'd often told him that she loved him in that time; Merlin knows, she had. He was everything that she could have ever hoped for at such a young and naïve age: handsome, talented, intelligent, rich. Perfect Edwin had always seemed wonderful to her and thus she often let him know that she was very much head over heels for the man.

Now, three years since he beat her to a gloomy state, Minerva saw the irony of the situation, but was unable to find the amusement. Yes, she had loved him. He had never loved her. What ended up hurting the most in the end was the fact that he'd said it. _I love you_, he used to whisper in the dark, and not for one minute had she ever suspected that he was lying.

Minerva looked at Albus, the physical embodiment of everything that she could ever want in a man. She knew, simply knew, that she would love him forever. His memory, she thought, would plague at her the way that Edwin's did, but she would never stop feeling for him. Indeed, she would have to say a good bye to him, perhaps some time not so far away, but he was the sort of person who would always be inside of her. Why, even the smell of charcoal kitchen would hit her brain when she thought of him.

And how, just how, is it that she knew so very much? His eyes.

He lifted her chin and she looked up into him. She didn't want to, merely for her sake of keeping control of herself, but she did. His stare of blue seemed to melt everything inside of her; all of the ice that had been built up over the years and occasionally chipped by meaningless lovers was suddenly nonexistent. And for the first time, it seemed, she wanted so desperately to be a part of him.

She hoped to kiss the man and she could certainly see that he wanted to kiss her, but neither of them made a move for it. Albus was perhaps being too gentlemanlike, and Minerva, quite surely, was restraining herself for self-preservation. Thus, they stared and she knew.

The man held her chin there for quite some time, as if he was not sure how to end the awkward moment. In the end, he merely let his finger drop numbly onto his lap, though his eyes did not move away from hers. Minerva waited for him to say something before dropping her head, but nothing came. So she, too, seemed to go numb all over her body and spoke not a word.

The kitchen, she noticed, needed some very serious cleaning. Not only was there no hope for eating that night, but there stood no hope for even the next day. Black covered everything: the counter, floor, stove, and even some of the ceiling. The immaculate kitchen had become a mess, worthy of a Greek tragedy.

She felt deeply for Albus who had tried very hard to make the evening an enjoyable one for her. Minerva had come for dinner and thus far, she had received nothing but a plate of charcoal. He failed in his attempt, but as everything in life is, the thought was all that mattered. Up she went from her chair and looked towards Albus, "I daresay you haven't given me a tour yet."

He blinked for a few seconds, coming off as really quite dense, and then realization waved over his face. The man sat up from where he was sitting and walked towards the middle of the vast house.

"This is the great room," he nodded. Indeed, it was great. As she had already seen, the area stretched from the back door by the lake to the front door, large enough to hold about three hundred people comfortably. Though, she thought, he probably had done a large amount of entertaining over the years. It was only natural that he should take up a house with such a wide amount of space.

The man took her around a corner to where the stairs were. They walked up together and immediately she was faced with a view. No, not at all a view outside, but a view of the lower level of the house; half of the upper floor was missing! There was a giant square cut into the middle, outlined by a tasteful looking railing, which allowed for visitors to look down into the other floor. She stopped only briefly to look down, seeing the table in which she had just been sitting.

They went left first, towards the room which he informed her he called the 'guest' bedroom. "My brother, Aberforth, usually spends a day or two with me while I'm here. This year, he's a bit more iffy than normal. I don't know if you or I will be seeing the likes of him while you're here. Anyhow, he's the only one, so I'm sure it's filled with his strange odds and ends."

Minerva didn't say anything, but by _strange_ she wondered if Albus had perhaps meant unearthly. There were all sorts of pictures everywhere, covering the most atrocious looking concepts—"Nigel Wietzel's Guide to Crossbreeding Unicorns", for example. She walked past quickly, ignoring the items floating around in bottles and everything else in the room.

Next, he took her to a much more homely room. Shelves were on two sides, nearly completely full. Minerva knew that room to be the library before he ever said it, though he did. She walked over towards one of the shelves, reading several of the titles. The Magic Beyond the Pyramids, Help, I've Transfigured My Mother: A Comedy, and Utopia were among the names she read, all of which greatly enhanced the like for her old professor. Perhaps she stood by a few of the books too long, however, for the man put a warm hand on her shoulder as she flipped open a random novel. "You always did like reading," he smiled.

The woman nodded. "You've got quite a collection. Have you read them all?"

Albus nodded his head, "Some of them three or four times. Remember, I've had this house for twenty-eight years. There's a lot of loneliness that comes with that time."

She smiled for he meant it to be a joke, but there was a sort of glumness to the way he said the words. Minerva could not help but wonder if he had always meant to be alone. Was that much life worth living without a companion? "Albus?" she inquired daringly.

"Yes?"

Her eyes met his and stared deep, deep down, "Why is it that you come up here alone every year?"

He blinked for a few seconds, perhaps slightly off guard, perhaps not wanting to answer truthfully. Whatever the case, he stood dumbly for several moments and then finally spoke in a sad, reflective tone, "Because it is my break and I have no one who is not worth breaking from."

A trail of saliva swished through her throat as she swallowed. It was not aimed towards her, the statement, but he was vaguely giving away what was on his mind and she knew it. His thoughts were on nothing but—at bare minimum—finding someone to love. For, as she had often heard it expressed, he had obviously not been loved enough.

"That's horrible," she found herself whispering to him, though she had no room to comment.

The man nodded, "I suppose it is, but it's the truth. It's just as well, anyhow." He did not look at her as he said the hollow words, but opened the door and led her across the corridor, next to the giant square in the floor. He wanted to believe what he said, but he didn't; Minerva wanted to believe him, but didn't. She felt for him. For the first time, it seemed, he had just told her how incredibly lonely he really was by, if nothing else, his downcast tone. He wanted someone—maybe her—as much as she needed someone to love and understand her. It was only right, she knew, for them to be together.

She was led next to his bedroom, the last stop of the top floor. He opened the door slowly and allowed her to look around the room. It shouldn't have surprised her at all the décor of his room—white curtain, red comforter, and walls splattered with the two colors—but it did a little. Part of her expected something completely impersonal, a further attempt in showing off what an immaculate life he was assumed to lead. Fortunately, there was no such thing to be seen. It was a salute to individualism.

"I like it," she stated quite plainly as she looked up to him. It was the perfect room for the man—bright, rebellious, and friendly.

"I'm glad," he spoke quietly.

He was sure to keep his distance, Minerva noticed. As she ventured underneath the threshold, the man seemed to take a step back towards the corridor—the woman could almost even believe that he did. She understood the discomfort, or rather, what he had to be uncomfortable about. After all, she was there—a woman near sixty years younger—with him in the dark inside his room. It was only the gentlemanlike thing to do.

The odd thing was that she…well, she liked him. Though she was not one to believe in destiny, she did believe in _feeling_ what was to come. And Minerva, for whatever reason, felt that she would be made happy by the hands—and kiss—of Albus. He had done well thus far in making her emotionally satisfied; there was no reason to keep a restraint upon their developing relationship.

And so, with these thoughts, she turned to look at him. The woman didn't know what she wanted to say, but somehow it just came out of her mouth, completely lacking any forethought. "You're so far away," she breathed.

Albus nodded his head. "I didn't want this to seem too odd, being in the dark and all."

The woman shrugged, "The whole bottom floor is overrun with candles. I don't see how the dark implies any more than candles do."

He blinked stupidly. Obviously, he didn't see the difference either. Or, perhaps, he was simply quiet to make way for his own thoughts. And it seemed that the man contemplated well what was on his mind. After twenty long seconds, he approached her—not a quick walk, mind you, but rather a set of strides that seemed to take an eternity.

No words were exchanged—the phrase 'I love you' would have been a lie. So instead, he put one arm around her waist, the other lifted her chin, and then he leaned down to her. Unlike all of his previous movements, his head seemed to move quite fast, as if she were metal and he a magnet. But his lips were soft, grazing hers gently as his fingers halted at the base of her neck. They only touched once; not more than that. Then he lessened his grip, allowing for the self-control he had to take hold.

She looked up at him, Albus, and brought her hand to his face, tracing the age on his face. In all truth, Minerva wanted to beg him to do it again, pull her close, but even she could not let it happen; she'd be asking in vain.

Minerva swallowed gently while looking into his glowing blue eyes and then spoke in a voice no louder than a whisper, "You're wonderful."

He smiled. "You're just how I thought you'd be," he moved his thumbs around the side of her waist gently, "soft, quiet, beautiful."

Her head was buried into his chest on her own accord and arms wrapped around the man's body. She didn't do it so much as to get close to him as she did to ignore the words. He always said it, no matter who _he_ was. Beautiful. Minerva was always beautiful to men.

She stayed in his embrace nonetheless, knowing that he had not meant it in the way that everyone else had and that his intentions were solely based on compatibility. He smelled of candy, though she couldn't determine which one. And he was soft, like the very kiss he had just given her. In a manner of moments, she completely disposed of her momentary disgust for herself as well as the men who ogled her; she was in a wonderful man's arms.

"Minerva?" he asked quietly.

She could hear his heart beating repetitively, soothingly. "Yes?"

"I believe I love you."

It was not an easy thing to hear for her. He loved her; two days and he had fallen in love. She didn't blame him for it. It was easy to mistake love for lust or attraction; any idiot could be confused. She, herself, was confused. Certainly, he was worth falling in love with, and even more certainly, he held that wonderful attraction. Maybe she was not in love with him quite then, but she knew she would be. And thus, she spoke calmly and clearly to the man, "I love you too."

* * *

hm…eight pages later. What do you think? You'd seriously make my week better if I get some feedback. I may even be inclined to work my butt extra hard and get you an update early:) 


	7. Seashells

Spring break, yayyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I know this chapter is short...but it's complete, yah know? If I can make the time, I just might finish the next chapter within this WONDERFUL week off.

aha...yup...well, I have broken a precedent, I think. It's Tuesday and I only post on the weekends! haha. well, I was proud of this chapter, thus, it is being posted. :) you guys are great.

Thank you to the following for reviewing last chapter: _It's me, get over it_, _Zoeteproet_, _SevyHero_, _Kyra Goddess_, _alix33_, _Hogwarts Duo_, _JoolsFan_, _princessmai101_, _MaraSevvie17_, _Chell_, and _gahhMinerva._ You all made me so happy. The mood shall get lighter and then heavier as the story proceeds...as you shall learn in this chapter, it merely depends on the time of day.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Seashells

There was nothing as horrible as to lose everything, Minerva imagined—to have absolutely nil, save for (if one were lucky) the air which flooded through one's lungs. And even then, she hypothesized, there would be no way to claim oxygen. Thus, to have nothing meant to have been better dead. At least then, there could be no quarrel over if air actually belonged to a person; they wouldn't need it, nor have the breath to fight their battle.

She felt that loss of war inside of herself when she dreamed of loneliness, which was certainly comparable to having nothing. _Alone_ for her was never the same embodiment: a little girl of no name, grown man left from war, cellist who sold the cello, dancer without a partner—such were the usual personifications of loneliness. And what's more, she knew as well as the elements of her dreams that they would never find their missing half. Had they continued in her nightly thoughts, Minerva was with certain knowledge that they would indeed eventually die while in her dreams. Her heart would break while in slumber for the images she conjured, and one could only assume that in the morning when she had every reason to wake, she too would die. For in the early hours of the morning, her mind would have finally given in to what she most feared and been named for dead. Hence, Minerva knew well that she would die of having nothing for no reason other than the fact that it was her deepest fear.

She traced the charm along her necklace as she sat in her dark and empty bedroom, staring at the wall with the picture as tears leaked down her face. There was no reason to cry, she knew, but she did. Minerva somehow always found a reason to make herself shed tears. It was a ghastly trick that her mind liked to play upon her, but that neither mattered nor made up for her nightly hysterics for it was her own emotion which plagued her so. The woman was terribly unhappy.

Minerva only thought of loneliness when she was alone. The times that she spent with someone held happy notions, rarely the morose "what ifs" that she asked thousands of times. In fact, the melancholy part of her brain didn't even seem to function when there was someone worth talking to within speaking distance. She was only soothed when a person who cared was close.

A knot pushed hard upon her throat as she thought of a man, a wonderful man who she had certainly deceived. She told him that she loved him. Perhaps she would some day, after her heart gave in to its natural emotion, but she did not at that moment. He was simply there, whispering beautiful things to her that she had waited an eternity to hear. What else could she do but tell him that she loved him? If she hadn't, he probably would have left. Then what? She would give anything if it meant not being alone!

She'd been much too alone for much too long. Minerva wanted companionship…security…perhaps even love some day. Well, more than anything she wanted love. But at the very same moment, the girl was not yet healed from being broken so many years before that. She'd been damaged and no one, _no one,_ knew how much except for her…her pain ran deeper than in her mind, but there ought to be no care on that part, save for Minerva.

It was not her desire on one hand to ever say the words 'I love you' again and mean it, but on the other, she wanted only to be loved and have no fear. "If only," she whispered unhappily, "there was a way to love and not risk anything." Even she knew that there was no way around it, however. She would either have to leap in order to love and have the security which she needed or not take a step at all. And, except for during her temporary moments of insanity, she knew that it was much safer to not move because the second she took a leap, she would fall deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper, and deeper into a world of darkness. The woman was too fragile a being to have her heart dropped from its highest point; she'd break if ever such a thing were to happen.

Despite everything, she thought only of being with a man, though for what reason she could not decide: for his ability to keep her cheerful, or the rush that he seemed to shock her with every time they touched. This man, who she did not love but who gave her happiness, was named Albus. He was across the lake, perhaps sleeping, dreaming sweet dreams of life. It was only in his nature to think of wonderful things while in slumber.

And Minerva, the woman who said she loved the man and did not, wanted nothing more than to hear his calming voice in the dead of the night in order to make her have good thoughts. Albus always managed to give her something happy to think about; Minerva had fallen asleep that night with the feeling of his lips upon hers…and indeed, she had fallen to slumber with a smile upon her face. His kiss had left her in a world that was quite unremembered by her—she took much sorrow in believing that once upon a time, she often fell asleep with a kiss upon her lips. The woman did not love him…

With the thought of his lips and only that, she got up from her bed and put a cloak over her nightgown. She was going to see him.

With a snap of her fingers, she was standing in his room, looking at a mass of pillows that seemed to be lacking one vital part: a body. Alas, he was not slumbering nor even—as it appeared—inhabiting his quarters.

Her stomach grew tight and for the first time, it occurred to her that she had no right to come to him in the middle of the night. He was, at most, a man who she had kissed once. That gave her no grounds for coming to see him—to make love with him.

A loss filled her throat when she realized he was not there. It was not as if she expected him to be wherever she wished for he was not hers to have, but she had hoped that he would be the sort who could comfort her. Perhaps even that was wishful thinking. Albus, sweet, wonderful, lonely Albus was away, loving someone else (as she supposed, for there was nothing to do at three o'clock in the morning save for make love).

It was no great beating on her poor soul, however, for she did not suppose she loved him…and her heart would always be broken, she knew.

* * *

Albus stared at the picture of Eleanor in the dead of the night. He'd been staring for hours and hours. Those gray eyes had become burned even deeper into his brain until all he seemed to see was that image. They pierced his heart in quick little stabs that were painful to stand, yet he did. The man knew that her memory was finally ready to be let go…ready to be sunk in the ocean and never looked for again. Albus merely wanted a few more hours with the thing that he had been holding onto for so very long. For indeed, he was ready to forget her.

Only a few minutes more did he waste, gazing into the eyes of his old love, before blowing out the candle in his library. Beautiful Eleanor was to be left well enough alone. And as for Albus? Well, he was quite sure that their time together had been well spent and was ready to end. The memories would always exist in his mind, but she was no longer a part of his present.

The man gathered himself up and left the room, walking only a short distance down the corridor to his room. An almost giddy feeling overcame him, however, when he realized that there was a long haired, dark, beautiful image standing near the threshold and he dared to believe that it was not a dream that he produced. Cautiously, he approached the door.

The woman spun around quickly when she heard the noise. A sigh of relief overcame her voice. "Albus," she whispered gently after a few moments.

He blinked as he stared at her face. She'd been crying not so very long ago—seeing as how the moonlight reflected off her drops—perhaps even within the last minute. A tear formed at the edge of her eye, the man could see it trembling, thought it refused to fall. The woman quickly brought a hand to the water and wiped her eye clean. Then she did something that he would never have imagined her doing; the woman pushed her hot mouth to his as she tangled her arms around his neck.

While he was an intelligent man, he was certainly not one without sin; he slid his wet tongue into her anxious mouth while winding his arms around her heartlessly thin waist, tracing up and down. She moaned to him, making no audible indication of anything other than enthusiasm. When they broke for air, her head did not seem at all to act with her body which pressed towards him. Along with her lips, her head fell back and she stared at him with a sweet smile upon her face.

"I didn't think you were here," she whispered, running her hands through his hair softly.

"And I did not know you were here," he smiled back. "Besides the obvious reason," he looked down at her vaguely covered chest, "what is the reason for your visit this evening?"

She took several careful blinks before answering, "I was thinking about you, Albus, and I decided I wanted to be near you…to hear your cheerful voice and to feel you," she leaned forward and met her lips to his, softer, with a more needy air this time.

The man grinned down at the woman. In all truth, he would have made love to her if she had not said such words—Merlin knows he wanted to; it had been an eternity since he had anyone worth having in his bed—he couldn't though…Minerva was doing it for all the wrong reasons. She was not seducing him for love, but because she had nowhere else to go—and both of them knew it. She would not have been crying if she had only a whim.

He slid his hands up and down her waist, attempting to think of an appropriate approach for what he had to say, and then finally moved them to her face. He lifted her chin up softly. "Let's go for a walk."

Minerva seemed quite put out by this idea for she drew gently away from him with an open mouth, "A walk?"

Albus nodded, "Around the lake. We can get some fresh air and talk."

He could see a glimmer of wetness upon her eyes. Her face was scrunching up—only around the lips—and he could see her stomach tightening. As subtle as it was, he even believed that she may have started trembling. She was fighting tears. Even her voice seemed to crack when she replied quite sadly, "All right." With these final words, she made her way out of his room and down to the bottom of the house.

The man followed her, knowing well that she only chose to lead for fear of him seeing her sad figure. It made him all the more guilty, knowing that he had caused pain for the woman. She was in enough pain already without his help. Why couldn't he just do it? He loved her enough for both of them. Ah, but no, that was not his character; all must be right in the world for there to be any sort of sinful goings on.

* * *

If she were to never fall in love with Albus, the reason would be Albus. He was too cautious, too aware to be the right kind of lover for Minerva. The man would never—_could_ never—make love if it was not for pure, untainted love. And the woman? She solely wanted that comfort, if only for an hour. Her reasons at times may seem unjust, but they made perfect sense to her; she didn't want to talk about her problems, merely to forget about them.

Walking, even next to him in the darkness, did not cause her thoughts to flutter away for once. There was much too much silence and not enough soft words. What the man did have to say seemed to be directly related to her mood, which meant very little on Minerva's part. She hated the way she thought and didn't want anyone else to know how terrifying her mind was, for it scared her on her own; if she let any person into her world, there would be the most terrible disruption. And Minerva, already vaguely unstable, could very well go mad. Thus, their conversation along the shore of the lake was a quiet and uneventful one.

The woman stared at the sandy ground as she walked, being careful not to trip over twigs or rocks. Albus said nothing and seemed to choose the stars instead of the ground to look at, that is, until he turned to look at the woman again. His tone was almost sorry as he spoke gently, "I used to wonder why they called this place Hermit Lake. It took me a few years to add two and two together."

"That's not very much like you," she whispered.

"I realize that," the man nodded. "Why do you think it's called Hermit Lake?"

Minerva blinked, "Because there is no one around for miles?"

"True, true," he whispered, "but that's not the reason. Do you want to hear the real reason?"

She looked at him for the first time since they left his house. The woman nodded apprehensively, interested. It was a thought that indeed had been plaguing her for some time. "If you promise it's interesting."

"It is," he nodded. "Look down at your feet."

The girl did. Both of them stopped. "All right," she whispered.

"What do you see?"

She blinked. "Rocks, twigs, shells—"

"—shells?"

Minerva bobbed her head up and down slowly. "Yes. Shells of some sort. What about them?"

"Well, Hermit Crabs use shells, do they not?"

The woman bobbed her head again. She understood…and it was not an interesting story at all. "So Hermit Lake is named after crabs? Crabs?" (Albus nodded his head) "Not much of a story, is it?" She began walking again, feeling let down in some cosmic way. So she had come to the crab lake? Minerva rolled her eyes.

"Well," he shrugged, "it depends on how one looks at it," he kicked a rock gently into the water, "There's the obvious way, which you are using, and the symbolic way, which I tend to use." Albus put his hand on Minerva's waist and guided her along the bed, pausing for a few minutes. "You see, this place was covered by ocean millions of years ago and has only recently—that is in comparison with the history of the Earth—hit a drought, thus leaving a lake and remnants of what animals once lived here. Now, there are obviously no crabs in sight, but their memory has been left. And as such, _Hermit_ lake is not a crab lake at all, but a lake filled with seashells, and therefore _memories_." Albus bent down and took in his hand a beautifully shaped shell whose colors were not quite visible in the pale moonlight and gave it to Minerva. "For my memory, my dear."

She took it into her hand and then cradled it to her chest. He was forgiven for being himself, as odd a crime it was. Albus merely wanted everything to be as it ought to be before making love or doing anything that either of them may want to hold dear. He saw their affair as something righteous, heated, and soulful… He saw the world as being right.

And thus, Minerva smiled and wrapped her arms around him. She felt his strong hands graze over her back. Then she felt a drop. Looking up at the man, she knew he was not crying, but some greater being was, for the sky began all at once to fall heavy tears that covered the ground. They both smiled at each other.

* * *

thank you for reading :)


	8. The Reality of the Mind

hello everyone. no cheery note today--I'm too depressed (as is not so vaguely shown in this chapter). Thank you all for reviewing; you're one of the few things that keep my world bright.

* * *

Chapter Eight: The Reality of the Mind

Soft piano music played somewhere in the distance, radiating a heartfelt concerto as the rain fell outside and a fire burned in sweet seduction beneath the mantelpiece. Elsewhere, there were candles floating here and there, wafting their aromatic scents in order to discredit the smell of the recently scorched kitchen. A blanket was wrapped lightly around a sleeping woman, radiant and seductive on her own accord, while a man sat with his arms around his knees only inches away.

She had fallen asleep rather quickly once they were inside his home. All he seemed to have time for was gather a blanket and give it to the beautiful creature. No sooner had she closed her eyes than she was deep within the realms of slumber—Slumberland, he had once been told by his mother, was a world where all goes right and nothing evil may happen; Minerva, it seemed, rarely was lucky enough to enter such a world, even in dreams.

Her sad words of only a few days ago fled through his mind at the thought of her unhappy view upon the good world of love, causing a voltaic strike of pain along his throat: _I think that it hurts people more than it helps. You're promised the world from someone and you promise it back. Then it's ripped away from you…whether or not you're the one doing the ripping_.

He looked at the woman with her deep locks and pale complexion sleeping silently, and shook his head. How could such a sweet creature be hurt so very badly by love? He'd heard the pain in her voice once or twice, but never so much as he heard earlier in the evening when they were walking along the shore. It was as if her insides were shattered and did not want to take the time to be mended (nor indeed, could be mended).

The man evoked their conversation with a glum recollection.

"It's rather dreary outside, isn't it?" he'd asked, looking up at the cloudy sky, rehearsing its drums for the battle.

"Quite," she whispered. "It's _quite_ dreary."

"You don't suppose it was the thunder that woke you, do you?" he pressed.

Minerva shook her head. "No. I always seem to wake up in the middle of the night, rain or none. It's quite normal for me." Her voice was soft, knowing, and final—painfully short. She knew as well as he discovered in those seconds that there was something undeniably faulty with (for lack of better word or accusation) her.

Albus was stung with some painfully sharp needle as he looked upon the girl. It was not normal to any point to wake in the middle of the night every solitary evening—quite objectionable really. While he did not doubt that she was perfectly well during the day, he knew (from some past experience or another) that waking up in the evening on a regular basis indicated some sort of…shock, if you will; trauma that had never sought the correct therapy. He supposed with some foreknowledge that she saw images in her sleep which woke her, for the mind conjured such images that were real and remembered. Yes, quite objectionable. He wondered in those seconds what sort of dreams she had in the evening—

The man knew after seeing her sleep for but half an hour. It sent a cold, hard, penetrating wave of fright through his skin that caused him to quiver ever so slightly. Her words went well with her body in sleep: "No! No!" she whimpered with a voice that was not her own, but some terribly tormented soul as she tossed and turned upon the floor. Eventually, the cries subsided and were replaced by real tears until she had no more sadness to offer and was left with only heavy breathing.

He took her limp hand, pale as snow, and slid his fingers through hers. An insignificant tear pleaded to flee from his eye, but he could no more let it leave than Minerva could let herself sleep happily.

God, he loved her. He had not known it until she came to his room in the sleepy moonlight with that need upon her face, but he did. He loved her smile when he made her laugh; he loved her cheeks that grew pink; he loved her voice that was sweet yet demanding; he loved her mouth that showed so well her lust; he loved her eyes—but he'd always loved her eyes. He loved, perhaps more than anything, the way that she reminded him of a lost love; a very lost love who shall never return but whose memory would always withstand the waters of time, moving and taking in what was not its own to take.

Albus shook his head as he squeezed Minerva's hand and then finally bowed his head. "Why do you hurt," he whispered very, very gently into the room, sounding of only the tainted notes of a piano and a sad crackle of a fire. "Why," his voice grew high and pained, "wh-yy?"

* * *

Minerva woke with a blanket upon her skin in a rather unfamiliar place upon the ground. The air smelled of burned plastic and the wooden floor was as cold as ice. Outside, she could hear rain falling upon the earth, whispering quite slowly pitter-pat, pitter-pat. The woman sat up from where she was and looked beside her.

A man was there, utterly brilliant and wonderful, by the name of Albus. He was in the most awkward position, making what looked like the number four with his legs and both of his arms above his head as if he were doing a jump before hitting lake water. A smile was on his cheery face when she met eyes with him. All the man had to say was simply, "You're awake."

She nodded her head slowly. Indeed, she was awake and alert. "Have you been awake long?"

Albus sighed, "Only about ten minutes. It's nine o'clock in the morning, my dear. Not too bad a sleep for an early riser."

The woman blinked a few times, ceasing to believe it. She rarely slept in past six most days, but perhaps she had no reason at all to be surprised; Albus made her comfortable somehow over the evening, thus, she slept _well_. And what's more, the man slept beside her because he loved her and for no reason other than that.

She put her elbows upon the floor, rested her head upon her hands, and looked at the man with a teasing demeanor, knowing full well that the skin of her chest was quite visible. "Is it really that late?" she inquired with a flirtatious tone.

He smiled gently, realizing and understanding her mood perfectly. Had Minerva not experienced first hand his need to control their affair, she would have attempted to seduce him in his morning disposition. As it stood, however, she found it far more equitable to smile and allow happiness into her world. She did not doubt for one second that they would in fact make love at some point during the day for she saw quite clearly the manner in which he surveyed her figure—wandering eyes and all.

"It is that late," he whispered gently, "and I suppose it is my own fault for not having anything ready to eat…but I'm afraid my kitchen has been set aflame over the course of the night."

A short giggle escaped her lips. "You had no business at all cooking for me last night. You could have set your whole house on fire. Really, Albus," she shook her head, "I'm not worth burning down an entire home. Nothing ought to be ruined for anything."

She watched the man who had a short smile creep upon his face. Minerva had predicted that he would retort, but he did not. Instead, he assumed the role of professor—of philosophy, not transfiguration. "But nothing can and will be ruined by anything because it is nothing."

The woman blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked, quite baffled at his statement.

"You have just stated that nothing ought to be ruined for anything. I am saying that nothing, as in the noun, may be ruined because it is simply space and anything, as in the noun, is any object which takes space. Thus, anything may in fact take place of nothing. So my statement to you is simply that you've created your own oxymoron."

Minerva blinked idly. She understood, but she did not see the point of his statement. "Albus," she sighed, "has anyone ever told you that you think too much?"

His hands ran gently through her tangled hair (due to walking in the rain the evening before) and a smile continued to reside upon his face. Minerva stared into his deep blue eyes, getting lost as she did only in the moments where she was not completely aware of her attraction to the man. There were circles around one of his more appealing qualities—something that had not been observed by the woman until then. It was only a fleeting thought, but for that second, she very much was perplexed by the sudden dimness of his visage. Though his eyes reflected his desire, the rest of his face seemed to scream with…well, she wasn't really sure what it was. It was hardly noticeable, even, but it simply was not Albus.

"Some more than others," he smiled, completely unaware of Minerva's compelling observations. "I like to find out whether my mind attracts or repels women as my own experiment. Some day, I shall show my results to the world, thereby either making the populace of men more intelligent, or less intelligent—depending on what I find with my results."

An entirely amused smile came over the woman's face, forgetting her own eyes and remembering her ears as well as mouth. "What do you believe the final results would be—and, while we're at it, how many women have you tested in this experiment of yours?"  
"Well," he sat up and straightened his previously flexed left leg, "I believe intelligence is wholly more appealing. And I have asked some odd hundred women, I think."

Her eyebrow rose. "Hundred? You've been busy."

He let out a guffaw while shaking his head. "You forget how old I am, my dear. I've been around for quite some time. And I should like to point out to you that I have not once ever been married for no woman is idiotic enough to love my intelligence all of the time."

Minerva, too, let out a small giggle. Albus was quite amusing in the morning—maybe it was from lack of food…he just naturally went on a humor rampage. But a thought did in fact occur to her that she had not considered before. She _didn't_ know how old he was. "Albus?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I don't know how old you are," the girl whispered quite meekly.

"Oh?" he blinked. Apparently he did not realize that he had not covered that subject matter. "Well in that case, I think it's better left unsaid."

She frowned towards him; she should have thought that of anything he'd be willing to tell her, age would be one of them—both of them knew that he was a great deal older than her. "Why is that?

"Because," he spoke in a dignified voice, "it shall cause you to leave me and we've been having such a very good time together."

The woman shook her head slowly and moved herself towards the man, resting her head upon his thigh and looking up into his eyes with a devilish smile upon her face. "You fail to realize, Albus, that I am not the one who leaves others. It is others who leave me, so you really have nothing to fear. Tell me, how old are you?"

His hand ran gently over her exposed back, sending excitement to her system, and then to her face. His touch was light, knowing, as if he knew every spot there could possibly be which would bring about any sexual desire she had. She took a long blink as he grazed her soft skin, allowing only a gasp of surprise to leave her mouth. The woman looked up at Albus who had an intelligent grin upon his face. "Do you really want to know?" he whispered.

"Ahm," she nodded slowly, fully aware that his hand had decided to rest upon her bony back.

"I am eighty-three years old, Minerva. That is fifty nine years older than you and quite a difference for any pair of people who plan on having a relationship. What do you say to that, my dear?"

She sighed. That was a large difference, but she didn't care. Albus made her happy, even if it were for the time being. After all, she did not love him…if their age were ever to be a problem, she could walk away quite easily. Hence, the woman looked into his eyes and with every fiber of truth that was inside her, she whispered, "that's perfect."

He seemed vaguely surprised by her remark—if not for any other reason than he believed that she loved him (which she did not) and thus he knew that she would take him despite his age.

What he failed to realize was that Minerva indeed would take him, may it be because she supposedly loved him or for the simple reason that he was wonderful. It was quite true, what she said. He was just old enough for her to—inevitably—walk away from, but young enough that she may be amazed by him. And indeed, amaze was the word to be used; Albus was a man to behold in every respect. Why, even the way he looked at her expressed his deep adulation for the girl—his eyes had never seemed so blue.

It was the keeper of those blue eyes who spoke next with a casually inquisitive air, "Did you sleep well?"

Minerva nodded her head slowly. Yes, she slept quite well. But then, she always slept after waking once in the evening…the fact that Albus was near, she would not lie, helped to calm her nerves as well. The woman blinked a fair few times, suddenly aware of her senses. She heard music, beautiful music. Beyond Albus the girl looked towards a grand piano, playing with nothing other than magic. She looked back up at Albus. "Has that been playing all night?"

The man bobbed his head slowly. "I thought it may help you sleep."

The girl smiled, looking a wee bit younger than she already was to the man. "It's beautiful," she whispered, "absolutely beautiful."

"_You_ are beautiful," he whispered almost sadly to her. It was as if he was saying the most precious words to her, and they could break if perhaps she turned them away from her heart. Albus meant it, Minerva realized, not as even a compliment, but as a token; a token of his affection that the woman had no intention of returning.

And she was struck, struck with guilt—more than she had ever known. For Minerva knew that she wanted, honestly, truly, undeniably _wanted_ to love Albus as he wanted her, but all that she had a desire to say to the man who she would never let herself love was, "Please don't call me that." Indeed, she said the words with a struck chord upon her throat.

Albus bowed down his head softly to look into her eyes and ran his hand through her hair which was still partially wet from the morning's rain. "Why not?"

She blinked sadly for the longest time. She had no real reason other than it provided for ability to leave no attachment to whoever she dared attempt to love. And when it was said, there indeed rose resentment for herself that she could never be rid. Why did she have to be beautiful? Could she not be the ugliest of all if she had been so blessed? In all truth, she could have, but Minerva was thus cursed by being a pretty creature and as such, the curse only caused a hate for herself when the word 'beautiful' was uttered.

The woman had but one response for the man after much thought, "Because it is a bitter comfort when other things ought to be said."

He looked at her for many minutes, perhaps uttering his next sentence and perhaps drowning in his own thoughts. Whatever the case was, he then nodded and did not touch on the subject again.

* * *

Clink. Clink. Thump. Albus put one charcoaled pot after another into the sink which was being operated by Miss Minerva. She insisted on getting everything situated without magic and then letting the pots scrub themselves after all was organized. It was probably the best thing to do; after all, he was simply not used to working with his hands—that is, without a wand in them.

He was the one placing the pots in the sink for one very remarkable reason: he could reach the top of the cupboard. The flames from the evening before reached to the bottom of the cabinets where some kitchenware stood and thus covered it in ash. The cupboard was near about eye level with him, while it was a good half of a head taller than Minerva. Besides, he held no expertise within the region of cleaning dishes, much like in cooking. Thus, the man was grabbing and bringing down dishes which he gave to the woman who no doubt knew how to clean.

Albus wondered where it was that she learned to use muggle technology so well. After all, he had absolutely no skill with a sink or indeed, oven. There wasn't a need for it. He could pop up his dinner out of thin air if he wanted and make whatever trash was left fly to a garbage bin or, if needed, to wherever the meal came. It was really quite rare in the magical world to find someone who was equally talented with the muggle arts as with the wizarding ones. Minerva was the intriguing exception.

"So," he asked as he passed her a pan, "how _is_ it that you know so much about all of these muggle devices?"

She took the metal object, placed it into the sink, and ran water on it. "It's just something I picked up over the years," she said before starting to pour soap on the black covered pan.

"Come now," he handed her another, "You had to have stayed somewhere or done something with muggles. One does not simply 'pick up' on things like that if they work where you do."

"I never said that it was from working," she said in a lower tone.

"True, but where else would you learn it? I know what ministry schedules are like, Min, and you've no hope at all of being out in the world and 'picking up' on things."

The woman turned off the water without making eye contact with the man and then silently went towards the other part of the room where her dry wand was. She muttered an incantation or other and the rag and water started working on their own to clean the dishes. Albus understood this as his point to stop as well—he had no reason at be forced to manual labor.

Minerva stared at him from the table with a warm smile upon her face. "You really want to know?"

He nodded slowly. He was naturally an inquisitive man…it was only natural that he should want to know why she could accomplish something that he would never be able to do.

"Well," she blinked, "you must understand first off that I am just like my mother, and as such, we both are opinionated and stubborn. Second off," a really quite elated smile took over her face and she even let out a little chuckle, "this was about the most entertaining year of my life." Minerva jumped backwards to sit upon the table; Albus rested his arms around her waist.

"I can tell already, this will be good," he smiled.

She bobbed her head happily. "Anyhow, mum decided for some unfathomable reason that she wanted to find a muggle husband—said that ministry men were too stuck up for her, nothing like what my father had been. So one day we just picked up and moved to a muggle flat in the center of London. This was before I was going to school…I had to have been about ten. Anyhow, we both took a um, do-or-die lesson on muggle living for eleven months or so—that is, until I received my Hogwarts letter. Our list of mishaps includes a flooded flat, about sixty broken dishes, and an incalculable amount of burned dinners, breakfasts, and luncheons."

Albus blinked, amused and baffled at the very same time. "And can you explain what made this year so wonderful if so many bad things happened?"

Minerva smiled and then bounced her head up and down. "Well, among other reasons, I developed a strong relationship with my mum. By the end of the year, we were going on walks in the park every weekend and playing tricks on each other. It was…lovely."

He grinned gently at her. "And your mothers search for a husband?"

The woman shrugged. "I don't remember coming across one at all. Later, mum told me that she decided that all men are—and I quote—'bunk'."

Despite himself, the man couldn't help but chuckle at this statement. Though he had never seen Minerva's mother (nor ever would) he was hit with an image of a woman with a creased face and dark hair saying the words through her line-thin lips while a giddy child sat beside her, not comprehending a word of it. Indeed, he could see Minerva's eyes growing wide, not because of what her mother said, but because of some shiny object off in the distance. "And I suppose this is what you think?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him just a little bit closer to her with wide eyes and a lush smile. Then, the woman sighed. "I believe that most men are, indeed, bunk, but there are always exceptions for everything."

He nodded slowly. "And I am exception?" his eyebrows rose.

"Of course," she whispered, "You're absolutely wonderful."

Had there not been something else on his mind, he would have certainly kissed her, but that was not quite the case. So, the man bowed his head down to hers and brought his hands to her soft cheeks, running his thumb over the little bit of pink upon her face. He could hear the rain beat outside, his heart beat inside, and a pulse beat within the woman—"Why do you say that love hurts?" In his knowing mind, there was a correlation between her cries in the night and her fluctuating ideas on love—only she could tell him, however.

She swallowed slowly. "When did I say that?"

"The first day we spent together. You said that love breaks people…that it hurts."

Her eyes were large, scared. "I suppose I did say that," she whispered.

The man bobbed his head slowly in the direction of the ceiling and floor. Of course she did; it had been bothering him for days. "Defend your statement, if you would be so kind. I'll be your opposition and we'll see if we can't come to a conclusion."

A sad stare fell on her face, but she nodded slowly. "Have you ever been so desperately in love that you don't think you'll ever survive without that person? That your whole world will come crashing down if they leave you? That…that you are in existence solely to be company to your lover?"

He nodded.

She ran her fingers gently through his red hair, feeling every groove that was a part of him. In her next words, she did not make eye contact with him, but he saw the dilation occurring nonetheless. "Then you come home and you realize that it's all a lie. That…that you're a pawn for their game of life. And then…then your heart is shattered into a million pieces that won't ever be put back together again. And it hurts...so bad…and you wonder why they couldn't have just finished you off"—she was rambling now with a glaze over her eyes—"and stabbed you with a knife; at least then you wouldn't have to live with the pain of living and seeing everyone else so very happy when you know that happiness is far from reach due to what he did to you. That pain won't ever go away because it's permanent and left a deep mark; should you ever find someone worth loving, things would never be quite right, merely because that first cut was so deep that the concept of being in love isn't even comprehensible. And…and it hurts to think like that, but no matter what others tell you about it all being in your head and that you're nonsense, it's not true because what occurs in your mind is your reality and the reality of being heartbroken is that you have been hit so hard that love is impossible." She blinked and looked at the man who had been struck dumb.

"I should go," was her simple reply to the awestricken expression of the man. She unwrapped her arms and slid herself from the table. Albus watched her as she approached the door, but he didn't dare let her leave.

His hand grabbed hers and pulled the woman back into his arms. "Please don't go," he cried with utter sincerity.

Minerva tried to push herself away from him, though he would let no such thing happen. She tried for a fair few minutes to be set free, pushing, pulling, elbowing, crying out, but quickly gave in to his strength and ceased to fight. Instead, she looked up at him with the saddest, most bewildered eyes he had ever seen—not unlike those which he had seen on the beach years ago—and then wrapped her arms tightly around him, digging her nails into the robes on his back, burying her face into his chest.

He ran his fingers along her back, puzzled at her hysteria, heartbreaking on its own accord. And he was very much reminded of what he saw the evening before while she slept. She'd cried out in the way that she cried out, pushed him as she pushed the covers, and come to a halt the same way that she did by burying herself within him. Albus, being the man he was, could not associate it all with coincidence.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Albus gathered the woman in his arms so that her feet hung off the edge of his left arm, and then levitated the both of them to the second floor. He carried her to his room where he sat her upon the bed. She fell onto the covers, quiet as the trees, and blinked up at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I don't know what came over me."

Albus nodded and drew a hand over her cheeks. "You just got caught up in the moment, that's all. And," he blinked before finishing his thought, "you were right, Min, about feeling like there isn't a reason to love after being let down. I want to show you something."

Thus, he got up and pulled an old, old picture out of his drawer and handed it to Minerva. It was of a woman with long, light hair, and a smile that could light an entire room; it was Ellie.

She looked at the picture and then at Albus. "She's beautiful."

"I know," he nodded, "She was about your age in that photograph. Her name was Eleanor—Ellie to me. She was going to be my wife."

There, he struck a chord. Minerva looked up at him with a sad face, but not for her own sake, but for his. "What happened? Did she leave you?"

"In a manner of speaking," he replied softly. "She died about sixty years ago. She lived in a little town off the Atlantic. Her father actually ran a lighthouse, if you'll believe that. We met while I was on some sort of misadventure with the ministry…" Albus looked at Minerva who had large eyes and full lips, "within a year we were engaged. I still wonder some days what would have happened if I stayed with her during the daytime. You see, the ministry controlled my life then—I was forced to leave her often. She um…well, one day she was apparently walking on the more dangerous side of the beach. High tide crept in on her and she was taken. After learning that she hadn't come in after her afternoon walk, I rushed back there, but I…I found her dead on the beach the next morning. I was too late."

"Oh Albus," Minerva put a hand on his shoulder, "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head gently. "I'm all right now; that was decades ago. But the point is that I…I never really felt inclined to fall in love again. True, I courted some few women, but it never really felt right. And then I saw you here," he grasped her hand. His eyes met hers and he stared so very deep into them, "Minerva, I will not lie because I'm not the sort of man who does that; you reminded me so very much of her. You have the same eyes and sometimes I even think the same smile. It's unbearable for me to think that I could never have your love because I…I've seen love in the eyes which you possess and it would be a sad thing for the both of us if it never appeared again."

Minerva sat up from where she was laying and moved her fingers across his unshaven chin, just staring into his eyes. The woman made no lunge for him, nor him to her, but they more met somewhere in the middle. He leaned one way, she leaned another, and then their lips met as thunder rolled from outside.

It was a sweet, simple kiss, lacking any movements that would otherwise indicate an affair and it lasted only a few seconds. Minerva stared at him with a smile upon her face afterwards. "It's amazing how vulnerable we are now."

The man nodded. "I know," he traced his fingers across her lips, "very vulnerable. Maybe it's best that…that—"

"Shhh," she put a finger to his lips. "I'll go now," she nodded, "Maybe you could come over for luncheon? I'll fix something that you could never dream of cooking and we can talk without this insane oscillation of emotions."

Albus nodded. "That sounds like a democratic resolution, my dear."

She grinned gently. "I'll be seeing you around twelve, then?"

He bobbed his head once more.

"Very well then," she kissed him gently on the forehead and was gone.

* * *

well then, interesting, eh? We'll see. I changed the sub-category to drama...merely because it's turning out that way. We are slowly slowly slooowly coming to a short interruption of this mood so that it may be replaced by ROMANCE! woo-hoo. It'll come at the appropriate time though, my friends. Do not fear. 


	9. Drop

Oh goodness me! It's been…2 months? I should be struck down! You have my permission to send angry emails, all of have excuses, but I figure you don't want them, so I won't give them. This chapter is short, yes, but it is utterly complete.

I would advise a re-read on the last chapter…one may be lost otherwise in this one. :)

The next update should be within 2 weeks…I am FINALLY on summer break!

* * *

Chapter Nine: Drop

Heavy, bulging, forceful tears were leaking down her cheek, falling gracefully along with the rain which surrounded her, striking her soaked body as she sat at the edge of the balcony. There was an inevitable chill about her body, coming from the thousands of icy drops, but it did not scourge the woman.

There was a conflict of emotion upon Minerva that she had never quite known; it was not that he loved her—men always loved her—but that he saw something in her that seemed so fragile, something that she never saw in herself. Albus could see the hurt in her eyes that so many had seemed to miss…he noticed that little glimmer that she knew she'd misplaced for what felt like an eternity. The man realized, undoubtedly, that there was a desperate, frantic, heartbreaking need for love inside the woman that simply could not be reciprocated if it were indeed administered—he thought of it naught in these terms, but in the terms that he loved her and could see her wanting to love him back… he saw the sadness in her eyes which could only be explained on his terms as conflicting emotions. He perhaps knew that she was incapable of getting past her discords, yet, Albus loved her.

She was not good for him, she knew—and perhaps that's what brought on the rush of tears in the beginning—but for no other reason than his understanding, she was quite willing to make herself believe that she could fall in love with him. Minerva could pretend…she had always been good at that; just tell herself every moment that she was not with him that he was wonderful, but could never be there for all eternity…it would work. Someday, hopefully one that wasn't so terribly soon, the woman could say goodbye to him—but until then, she chose to act, play the part of lover.

Thus, she got up from her seat on the wet balcony, pushed the glass door open as water dripped onto her floor, and very slowly removed her wet, cold clothing while staring at herself in a mirror as the chilled wind blew through the open door.

She was beautiful; there hung no doubt on the subject. There were nuances to her that simply weren't familiar to others; ivory skin, a smooth face, soft curves, and a rabid lust for a soft touch. Her figure simply radiated with a sensual air that beckoned those around her; there hung no doubt upon her mind that Albus would make love to her if she asked.

And Minerva…Minerva could most certainly act as if she loved him the way he loved her.

* * *

There was little light inside the house; merely the little pigments that came from the gray outside, due to the rain; all the curtains were open and a fair few of the windows too, yet, it was not a gloomy place. The home was quiet, mysterious—the sort of lovers paradise that she had always been pained to leave. Only a fire stood for light, which held a place in the front room, glimmering softly in the shadowy response from outside Minerva's home.

She did not bother to make anything to eat like she had told Albus she would do; there was merely her, the dimness of a room, perhaps a fire, and a will. She didn't anticipate the man to be late, and indeed, she could see him waiting outside her door before knocking. The woman could have answered without his hand even touching the wood, but just as a formality, she waited—indeed, he waited a fair long time too.

He had the most peculiar expression upon his face as he took a side glance through the open window by the door. Though he couldn't see her, she could see him, and the man appeared quite inquisitive while at the same time, vaguely delighted. It was as if he couldn't decide which emotion was better, for he was quite clearly baffled at the placement and lack of light inside the house and yet utterly intrigued. He knew what was flowing through Minerva's mind by the setting of things, and inevitably, Minerva learned his through the subtle movements of his lips—they both realized that an affair was clearly about to commence.

His knuckle hit the door in three loud thumps.

Deep blue eyes met the woman when she pushed open the door, staring into her as they always seemed to do, and grabbed her chest tightly. "Albus," she whispered gently as a greeting.

"Minerva," he nodded, "I trust you're feeling better?"

She bobbed her head slowly up and down. The woman had forgotten the events of earlier in the morning where she threw that horrid tantrum; it was of no importance. Minerva had merely been reminded of something that happened so very long before then; Merlin forbid she ever be placed in a situation where she was forced to do something again. The woman merely fought, as was her intuitive reaction—what replaced her outburst was the man's heartbreaking story about his long lost lover. The first half was completely expunged from her memory and the latter held a special place in her heart. He said she had the eyes of his lost love; it wouldn't surprise her if he loved her for that.

It was rather ironic, she thought in those milliseconds that followed after the door was opened, for one very interesting idea occurred to her: Albus was attracted to her for the memory she produced inside his mind and she was attracted to Albus for the same reason—yet her memories were of the most awful sort where as his could only be imagined as wonderful. The man saw the charm in Minerva's eyes which ultimately brought him to her and she saw the wit and humor which would ultimately bring her away from him; he was very much like Edwin had been—intelligent, humorous, creative, rich—save for one reigning difference: he too had been heartbroken. Thus, Minerva arrived at a very interesting conclusion which she had never arrived to before: she had once told herself that she would love Albus forever; the reasoning for this was simply because he was always going to be good to her, and she knew that…by love of course, she meant hold a great esteem for the man.

"Come in," she whispered.

His wet shoes squeaked from the offset in which he looked at Minerva with a chuckle. "Do you mind if I leave these outside?"

She shook her head. Of course she didn't care; what were shoes anyhow?

Patiently waiting, the woman folded her arms as he slipped off the black shoes he had been wearing. Once finished, he looked at her with a puzzled expression as means to say 'what now?' Well, she didn't exactly know what was to come next. Thus, she motioned towards the settee by the fire where the both of them went and sat, as they had the first night they met at the lake; Albus took one end and Minerva the other.

"Strange morning, isn't it?" Albus was the one to speak, perhaps not able to find anything else to say, perhaps being interested in Minerva's outburst—one never knew. In all that the woman was aware of, she wouldn't have been surprised if he was compelled to find out why she wanted to leave in such a hurry—and cried out when he attempted to stop her.

She whispered back softly, desperately hoping that he would not turn the subject to…well, ultimately to Edwin and what had happened. "Quite strange. But this whole business of being at Hermit Lake is causing things to be disrupted, you know. I think it's accurate of me to say that normally neither of us is emotional."

A shrug was her answer, followed by a passive expression. "I daresay, it's in everyone's nature to become emotional when faced with a new situation."

"Yes," she spoke back with hollow words. Minerva tried to carry the same face in all hours and at all times, but that never worked; the words of Albus rang much too true. She never cried so much as those moments when her life was inalterably changed. After all, the woman still carried tears for such things as even her mother dying—though that had only been a few months beforehand. There was always that moment where emotion grew high and quite frankly, for Minerva, it took much too long for her to be released from that zenith where the tears rolled and to revert back to a normal level of emotion. As such, she knew Albus was correct, but she'd never admit to it in a wholly heartfelt sentence.

"You weren't yourself at all earlier," the man spoke. She knew he would have said more if she'd given him lee-way, but she hadn't and he didn't. In fact, there was a long silence after that. Minerva refused to give in to his questions and he refused to overstep her boundaries. The yarn of time for them suddenly seemed cut short by the speechless air.

Minerva, not knowing exactly what to do and having something of a habit of subconsciously touching her necklace, began moving the sapphire charm back and forth along the thin chain. The gold felt light and thin between her fingers where as the jeweled part was cold and bulky. She swallowed gently as the time passed, keeping her eyes away from the man, attempting to avoid the conversation at all costs. But of course he found a way of grabbing her attention, in this case, moving his own hands to the charm and then grasping her fingers.

"That's a beautiful necklace."

"Thank you," she whispered back. "It's a family heirloom. My great-great-great grandmother owned it and since then, all the women in-between her and I." There was a sickly pain to telling this part of the story on Minerva's part—she feared never being able to pass on the trinket. What perhaps made the yearning in her stomach worse, however, was Albus' response: "It looks lovely on you. Perhaps one day it will look lovely on your daughter."

Her head moved up and down slowly where a warm smile crossed her face. Albus meant nothing by it; he was merely alluding towards the happy family he supposed she would have some day in the future. He did it the same way he hinted towards her being beautiful—and it received the same response, at least inwardly. "Perhaps," she whispered, "I'll be able to pass this on to a little girl who's as close to my heart as I was to my mum."

Albus smiled and then pecked her very gently on the lips. "Your future, Minerva, is what you make it to be."

The woman's arms wrapped around his neck, but she didn't move herself to him any more than she already had. Instead, she stared. His eyes, as blue as the sky, were staring at her closely, attempting to read every thought and dream she'd ever had—metaphorically of course; while she did not doubt that Albus could read her mind due in part to the fact that he was powerful, she knew that he couldn't ever do such a thing; the man loved her much too much to breach that code of conduct. She was amazed at the depth he had within his stare, as if he held the entirety of the universe inside himself and chose to share it with only those who dared to love him. And of course, Minerva daren't love him, but she dared to act the part and by doing so, she saw what no one else saw inside Albus Dumbledore: a ravaging thirst for contact.

"What do you see in your future?" she asked tenderly as one of her hands started gliding through his red hair—over a vast number of lovers, she had learned when to coo and when to squawk; when to dive and when to soar; when to wait and when to strike; when to push and when to be pushed—she was prepared for his words of love and devotion, but not for his response which struck her so deeply that she felt metallic, unforgiving pain.

"I'm not sure what I see." The man pulled a gentle finger across the side of her face, not removing his deep blue eyes from hers. "But it's bright and colorful. There's laughter everywhere and children. And all this pain from the past no longer lingers in my life for I am truly happy with someone who loves me as I love them. I see myself dancing with her in the dark while the candle runs low and that smile on her face doesn't seem to ever leave. And when the children demolish the moment by crying out in the middle of the night," he half chuckled, "we'll both go and I'll smile when I hear her telling our children a story. And I'll know that life is perfect, if only for a few moments, because, my dear, that is my fantastic dream of the future."

In all honesty, her hands shook ever so slightly and the water in her eyes began to bulge unwillingly, but she made no other physical sign of being so terribly oppressed by his words. He did not say that he wanted her—Merlin knows, it would have made things easier for her to analyze if he had—but rather that he wanted everything that she had ever dreamed: love, children, and a _home_; he wanted to live; love; be loved—and he made no hint whatsoever that his lover would indeed (in his mind) be Minerva as so many others had.

And this very fact caused the woman to question everything that had been happening between them; if Albus really loved her as he said he did, then the man would have told her that he saw Minerva—not just any woman.

Alas, he had not and she was suddenly left with a thought: she needed to know that he loved her, even if she didn't love him—there was no way that she could possibly make herself go any farther without some sort of reason; for whatever her thought process was, there always needed to be a wonderful ending in sight. She knew she would walk away from the end result if there would ever be one from their relationship, but Minerva had to know that there was a chance…it gave her more reason to move onto someone new when the time came and to look upon the past more fondly.

"Albus?" she asked much too softly, for it gave way to the crack inside her throat.

"Yes, my dear?"

She did not mean it—she never meant it—but she needed to hear his response, his devotion to someone he ought not to be devoted; "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered strongly.

Then he kissed her on the lips, gently sucking her flesh to his and then letting go. She pushed up to him, grasping his mouth to hers, refusing to let it leave. For whatever reason, the girl simply had to keep holding onto the man—call it a primordial instinct, call it a mind that couldn't make itself up; she had not ever held so close to anyone, save for one person. All that Minerva could possibly think about was the man and her and the rain pounding on the window panes; it was like the shards of water were working furiously to destroy the glass as she was hoping malignantly to forget all that life had ever done to her and replace it with yet another mess.

She didn't care.

Her arms snaked tightly around his neck as he naturally gave in to her hot (perhaps desperate) mouth. As a response, the man's hands slid beneath her clothing, gliding over the tight, prepped skin at her abdomen; feeling first her protruding hip bones, soon followed by a particularly molded ribcage, and then stopping at a fleshy chest. His fingers were warm and surprisingly curious, grazing over the less tolerant bits of her body, sending a pang of lust—that of which both were aware. Minerva let out a sigh, breaking away from his lips as one of the man's hands went to the very beget of her state, prodding gently.

In a voice much too far from calm to be Albus', the man whispered into her ear, "Everything will be all right; I won't hurt you."

She nodded, unable to process anything he could possibly say. Only later, after the rain had subsided, was she able to think about what his words meant to her; everything.

* * *

(sighs) next chapter has been started

Please review if you've decided to stick with me. I love this story and I want it to stay good, but that won't happen without your critiquing!


	10. Change

Chapter Ten: Change

It happened so fast: sheet; discarded clothes; skin; fire—quiet pleas still could be heard by the whole of the house, or rather, the house chose to remember the sounds that were hardly above a whisper. The old home had not seen such a display of raw passion since perhaps it had first been built, and even then it was reserved; seen only in select rooms of the house—never in a place where all could see. But Minerva and Albus, they chose to not care, to make love without a care in the world; they continued to make love without a fault.

The woman, a beautiful and sexual predator, lay on the wooden floor of her front room asleep with a sheet strewn over her body after the matter and a man—intelligent and carnivorous on his own accord—lay on the floor, also with the sheet, but in addition, a feminine hand covered his chest. The both of them were thinking so many things (one in sleep and the other in wake) but neither thought as vigorously as the man.

He knew she loved him, if only for the reason that she let him into her wonderful and yet heartbreaking world but that was perhaps the origin of his anxiety. Minerva told him nothing, save for the bright and brilliant of her life, unless he pushed in the other direction—a concept he could not help but associate with sex; she preferred to follow her own whims, save for when she was forced to go another route. Indeed, Albus was the stronger of the two, thus moving the woman in whatever direction he pleased; he believed she benefited from the loss of control, though she still would have it the other way.

Minerva did not freely give out her life's story which was wholly unsettling to the man; he didn't know her hardly at all mentally, at least deep down. He could easily predict how she would react to certain situations, if for no other reason than she was a woman, but he didn't know _why_ she responded to certain things in such extreme manners. Albus didn't have the faintest idea as to the reasoning for her struggle to leave his home earlier in the day or her doleful outlook on love—or why she never seemed quite sure about how she felt. He saw the insecurity in her eyes that clouded her world quite often, though he did not act it—his observations from the first morning where he saw her on the dock still haunted his curious mind. Troubled as he was for not knowing the woman as well as he ought to, he still saw Minerva as the wounded.

Fully aware of the fact that Minerva would never tell him her woes unless prodded, he was seized with an awful, villainous, desperate idea: her mind could most certainly be entered while she was in slumber and she'd never give it a thought in the morning. He could…

The man shook his head violently. He'd be breaking every moral he'd attempted to give himself (and then some) if he breached her memories. They weren't things to be stolen or used as leverage; they were meant to be sweet portholes to the past. Though he could argue by what he knew about her memories being nowhere near sweet, he also knew that a scheme as heinous as reading one's thoughts was evidently unforgivable—and Minerva, being the woman that she was, would _never_ forgive him; even if she never knew, he'd know, and there would be a strain between them.

Right on cue, almost, to interrupt his deceitful thoughts, the woman's sleepy voice whispered, "No." Not a word more was heard in those few moments, though her disposition was quite suddenly changed: her head moved from side to side and her eyes threatened to be opened due in part to her twitching eyelids; the woman's hand clenched and unclenched on his naked chest. Not knowing what to do, he grasped her fingers gently; she clutched back with cold, sweaty hands and let out a heavy sigh, soon followed by one cracked word, "Why?"

Saliva drained down the man's throat as he swallowed. "Why what, dear?" No, she wasn't awake, nor even talking to him, but Albus was being hurt by simply watching the woman; he didn't believe for one second that he could possibly be in more pain if he were to discover what it was that she attempted to keep from him. Minerva obviously was visited by the same dream, same past, same thought every evening—there was no other excuse for the fact that she woke up regularly in the middle of the night.

A somnolent voice gave him a reply, "Didn't you love me?" She paused for many seconds while Albus quite literally scratched his head, and then went on, "I," she took a long, almost cold breath, "loved…you."

Albus blinked while staring upon the woman. It wasn't his place to be speaking to her while she was in such a state; he had no right at all to prod as he was—but he was intrigued. Of all the things that he had in abundance, it was decency, but he couldn't avoid being indecent just that one time—or perhaps at all that evening. Very true it was that the man respected the woman, but he also loved her; he delved deeper into her mind only in the name of love.

"But I do love you," he tightened his grip on Minerva's fingers.

"Stop it," she started shaking her head again. "Let go," she flung her hand away from him, falling dangerously close to the fire.

Sitting up quickly, he reached across and brought the woman's hand back to her chest where it rested gently. "Minerva," he whispered softly, hoping that whatever it was he had to say would cause her to be less violent with herself. His voice had no such power, however, for her head rocked from side to side like a boat, rocking as the waves hit.

Again, the man swallowed as he watched her. She was struggling; struggling for control, for life, for happiness in her dreams. That's what got him; he couldn't see such a tender creature having so much war inside herself. No, he didn't invade the woman's memories to stop her, but rather placed his arms around her firmly and whispered in the most gentle way he knew, "I love you." He had half expected the woman's sleeping body to retort, but instead it quieted, ceased to move and he thought there was the faintest whisper from the woman that sounded an awful lot like the word "whim".

* * *

"Edwin," she whispered softly as she stared at a picture in the Daily Prophet while her mother sat on the settee, reading something or other on politics. He looked much older than he was, suddenly in that photograph: his hair was shaggy, face showing some lines while being far too gaunt—who wouldn't look that way after spending months in Azkaban?

She read the headline slowly and carefully with a wavering breath, "Murder Attempt to Be Judged by Courts". Beside the bold words stood the picture of the man she once loved and then next to that was a picture of herself—lying on her bedroom floor, completely destroyed. The pictures in The Prophet had been enchanted, she knew, to move, but hers was the only one that had no motion; her body just lay there limply on the floor where the only action at all was the leaking blood from her head. After staring at the picture for nearly a minute, there was a large pool of colored liquid upon the floor, growing thicker as the seconds went on, staining her snapped body, but she couldn't look at it anymore; it was enough to simply see herself injured, let alone dying.

Minerva reached up slowly to touch the side of her head that had hit the bedside bureau somewhere over the course of that evening. It stopped bleeding months beforehand, but it still hurt; it was a mental reminder of what happened. If there was one thing that she could not stand, it was to recall what occurred that evening in late January, when it was still so very fresh on her newly recovered mind.

"I thought we agreed that it was a bad idea for you to be reading that article?" A soft voice from the settee called with that universal motherly tone.

The younger of the two girls looked over with a gentle smile upon her face. "I know, but I can't help myself. It's just so strange to be seeing all of this…" she looked around to find the right word, "rubbish so long after the matter."

Willing her daughter to come over with flexing fingers, the older of the two welcomed the child into her space as Minerva placed a head on the woman's thigh. A hand was run through the younger's shoulder length hair (it had been cut in order to carry out some procedures at St. Mungo's) and then the mother sighed a gentle sigh. "I wish that I knew how to go about this with you, Dear. Moreover, I wish you'd see a therapist; no one would have to know. It would help you if you had aid from someone outside me and your world."

"No," Minerva shook her head. "I'm better off sorting out my own thoughts on my own. Besides, it's no one's business but my own. After all, who else ought to be burdened by the future I'll never have?" She didn't say it coldly, her sad, sad destiny, but rather, with a note of conclusiveness; she couldn't change the past, no matter how much she wished it, and thus the future was inevitably changed.

Perhaps it was the finality in her voice which struck a chord upon the two of them; Minerva had never referred to the after effects quite so literally. She did not believe to any point that there was a bright future in her midst—nor her mother; the usually optimistic Aggie McGonagall was just as let down as her pessimistic daughter. Life would never be the same, that was certain, but it didn't seem that it would ever get better, either. Thus, Minerva let out a sad sigh and asked with a heartbroken voice, "What shall I do, Mum? I feel so…lost"

"The same thing you've done all of your life." The woman smoothed her fingers over her daughter's hair, carefully avoiding the scar which the potion had never seemed to quite heal. "You'll get up in the morning, breathe, and try to smile. One day, you'll wake up, and you'll realize that you've got everything to offer to someone…and then everything will be all right."

She nodded slowly. Minerva heard the words, but she never quite made sense of them. Love was something to be given and taken; she'd lost her will to give in a single evening and she didn't understand how it could ever return.

"Minerva?" her mother's voice grew perhaps even warmer, though more concerned.

A soft reply echoed through her ears, "Hm?"

"Min?"

"Yes?" she asked again.

"Minerva?"

The woman blinked her eyes, realizing the voice to not be her Mum's, but a man with whom she was quite familiar: Albus. Immediately, she was faced with a view of the dimming fire and an arm upon her waist, covered only by a thin white sheet as she opened her eyes wide. She continued to blink, but soon realized that her world was a blurry one, due to watery pupils. The girl chose not to turn to face the man (who she recognized undoubtedly knew she'd been crying in her sleep), but rather grasp his warm hand tightly while still looking in the direction of the dancing flames.

"Please tell me what you were dreaming about," he whispered ever so gently into her ear. "You've been mumbling and crying for the last ten minutes…I couldn't take it anymore."

A deep sigh escaped the woman; she'd never had anyone care enough to ask—it was no secret to her by any means that she did not sleep well (nor to her lovers) but many of them simply tended to write her off as either a one night's affair or disturbed; more often than not she left a relationship gladly because of the man's reaction. Ah, but Albus could never react as the others had; he was the most caring and intelligent man she had ever met.

"I was dreaming," she started very, very slowly, "about something that happened long ago. I…I was talking with my mother."

The man pulled the woman just a little bit closer to him. "About what?"

Quite plainly, Minerva replied, "Life."

"What about it?"

In all truth, she didn't know how to approach the subject; it was so hard for her to think about it on her own, let alone explain it to someone who cared so very much. Thus, she did not explain it as well as she ought to have; if the truth were ever to come out, it would be at a much later time. "Growing up; having children and a family—what you spoke about earlier."

"And this made you cry?"

Blink. Blink. Blink. "Yes; and no. I…I'm very afraid that I'll be alone someday; completely alone. I can't…I can't always live only for myself; it isn't worth it." She spoke slowly, waiting for the right words to come to her, talking as if she were in a daze; Minerva never professed to be proud about fears. "Are you ever afraid of being alone?" The woman's voice shook slightly at her last word—not because she was asking a question, but rather, for the very idea of the word; Minerva spoke to the man who was in love with her about having no one when she was quite clearly in his arms.

He squeezed her thin hand gently. "Often, yes, I am very afraid of being alone…it should be no secret to you that I have not happily been in a relationship for a great number of years; but I've always had hope. I'd like to think that you could be the reason I've been holding on so tightly to the idea of love." Albus stopped and then there was a short, thoughtful silence. The man kissed her softly on the neck with a bristly chin. "Neither of us is alone right now."

It was true; he was holding her by the fire in the middle of the evening, whispering the most comforting words that she'd heard since her mother died. Albus was totally and completely correct; they weren't alone; they had each other.

Slowly turning, the woman stared at him; the fire danced in his deep blue eyes like she had never seen: waves of red waved back and forth as if it wanted to mesmerize the woman to have no thought at all, save for keeping her eyes on the man. She didn't remove her eyes from his, but allowed a soft, full smile cross her lips as her fingers glided curiously slow through his auburn hair and then to his matured face. Minerva had the oddest urge to say something meaningful, something that neither of them could ever forget, but no words came to her and making love would have solved absolutely nothing; so she did nothing but stare at him as a deep adoration overcame her being.

Her lover's hand covered her hand as the digits slid between her fingers and then he pulled it away from his face. He sighed softly and began playing with the woman's hand, rolling his fingers and wrist all across the bony ridges.

This was something new to Minerva; she had never had her hand represent some play toy, but Albus was perfectly amused by doing such a thing. The man made it seem as if she were a jigsaw puzzle and he was searching for the correct fit; or perhaps she was one of those awful muggle toys that moved when wound (or provoked)—whatever the case, Albus was utterly amused which by some odd stroke of luck, brought an even wider smile across her face.

"What are you doing?" she asked in an almost motherly tone herself.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he teased. When there was no answer to his rather rhetorical question, he continued, "I'm playing with you."

Subconsciously, the woman rolled her eyes; what a dolt he could be sometimes. "I see that," she sighed, "but what is the point? I don't believe I make pretty music or anything of the like when you do that."

"No?" Albus raised a taunting eyebrow. "I'll bet I could make you respond with _something of the like_, as you call it."

She was taken aback by his statement; Minerva recognized his teasing manner and even more so, she saw that new light in his eyes—he was in a right unpredictable state. "And how are you going to do this?" The woman took a quick glance down at the two of them; neither was very well covered by sheets anymore; she had the distinct feeling that something delightful had an opportunity to commence.

"That depends," he drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. "I am a world class tickler; I won the cup for my team back at Hogwarts. And if by some awful chance you can withstand my power, I can and will burn down your kitchen, in which the result shall be you screaming at me—I don't prefer to go through with choice two, reasons are obvious," he rolled his eyes. "So?"

The woman shook her head violently and pulled her hand gently away from him. "Neither."

If it were possible at all, his eyes grew more impish. "Ah, so the fair lady is ticklish. Well then," he sat up from where he was—Minerva didn't dare wait to see what he was about to do. She tore off (along with the sheet) in the direction of the stairs and turned to face the man, who sat reasonably dumbstruck by the fire still, severely naked.

It was Albus' turn to blink; he looked from where she had been and then to the stairs and after nearly a minute, he shook his head in a threatening manner. "You, my dear, have just reached a stage of mortal danger. Run." Then he sprang from his position by the fire and walked towards Minerva, who began running up the stairs, being completely tangled in the large mess of sheets.

Minerva ran into her room and slammed the door behind her, throwing her body at it in order to keep it from moving and rested there. She didn't hear Albus moving on the other side of the door, though she knew he couldn't have been far at all. Her heart was racing in her chest—Merlin, she didn't remember the last time she played tag. The woman watched as the doorknob by her right arm was being turned, holding her breath. She expected him to heave at the door, but nothing came—the man didn't even turn the handle all of the way. Suddenly, everything in the world was so incredibly silent that it nearly frightened her. Minerva removed her body from the door and waited for Albus…there was nothing.

Knowing full well that she was most definitely walking into a trap, she placed her hand on the doorknob and began to turn ever so slightly. Then, in one swift movement, she threw the door open and was quite shocked to see nil of Albus; as a matter of fact, she saw nothing, save for the wall of the corridor. With a sense of caution, the woman walked through the threshold and then to the center of the hall, where there was still no sign of the man.

She turned slowly back towards her room, only to be faced with her lover, who immediately grabbed her hands gently. "I have you," he whispered playfully.

"Albus!" she gasped.

The man smiled as a twinkle overcame his eyes. "So? You may want to save me some trouble and tell me where exactly it is that you're ticklish…that is, unless you have something more appealing to do?" He raised an eyebrow as he took notice of the sheet that was falling from her chest, due to lack of limbs to hold it at its place.

Lips curled ever so slightly at his subtle suggestion, Minerva backed slowly towards the wall as she pulled her hands behind her waist, even though Albus was still holding tightly. Once she was clearly in contact with the corridor's barrier, the girl looked up at the man. "What takes your fancy?"

He let out a chuckle. "Frankly, my dear, I think it'd be rather entertaining to see the infamous Minerva McGonagall have a tickle fit, but that doesn't necessarily have to take place this evening. And in any case, I asked you first."

She rolled her eyes. "Really now," she spoke back in a blatantly cynical tone, "what does that have to do with anything? I seem to be caught in a corner."

An amused laugh fell from the man's mouth and he reached quite gently for her waist where he pulled down the remainder of the sheet to reveal her ample chest. His lips seemed to inflate immediately together in a charmed grin, though his eyes didn't appear to have left her eyes for more than a quick second or two. He brought one of his hands up to her face and then lifted her chin up. "Promise me there won't be any more nightmares and then I'll tell you."

A deep swallow and then a nod was her response.

Smiling, he leaned down to kiss the woman; that was that for a fair few more hours.

* * *

Albus woke up to a bright, sunlit room with a large bed that had somehow lost its comforter over the evening and had only a thin white blanket, yet no girl; no beautiful, perplexing, thoughtful Minerva in sight. He lifted up the sheets to be sure, scratching his head in befuddlement and then looked around the area from one corner to the next, sighting nothing out of the ordinary, save for perhaps a green satin robe, most assuredly Minerva's.

The man blinked slowly. "Well, this is something new," he whispered to himself. If he had ever been so unlucky as to wake up to no one after a night of passion, there was _at least_ usually a note, more often than not the Dear John sort; nothing of that nature or any other held residence inside Minerva's bedroom. Yes, quite perplexing indeed.

With a thud, Albus stepped foot off of the curiously low bed (Minerva was really quite petite in comparison to him) and put on the satin robe which barely came to mid-thigh, showing off his rather gangly knees. He blinked as he looked at himself in the mirror; "I look like I've just escaped from the carnival…and forgot to take off my freak outfit."

"I daresay, your audience might miss you," a sweet voice, full of unusual levity called from the threshold.

He turned towards the sound, suddenly quite red in the face; he figured just as much that the woman would probably be downstairs, but it had never occurred to him that she'd be anywhere near to see him in the robe before _he_ had accepted its awkwardness on his body. Of course, his dismay was put aside for a quick second as he digested the woman's appearance: long white nightgown, quite nicely cut along the bust. Albus blinked, suddenly re-aware of his attraction to the woman. "That isn't very nice of you to sneak up on me like that…or to even leave for that matter."

Minerva walked into the room, carrying herself with more confidence than he had remembered and draped her arms around the man's neck with a smile upon her deep lips. If the man was not mistaken, her gray eyes looked brighter than they had the day before…or the day before that; the woman looked absolutely buoyant, almost as if she decided to bare the fact that she was in love. "I was making you pancakes," she whispered with a smile, "I haven't been gone very long. I only came up when I heard you creep out of bed; you're not very graceful in the morning, are you?"

"What are you talking about?"

She blinked innocently. "The floor tends to make noise when it's exposed to too much weight; while I don't doubt that it was practically screaming last night," a voluminous smile played at her lips, "it groaned rather loudly when you pulled yourself out of bed. I was merely inquiring as to why that was. Did you fall? Or are these boards just old?"

The man wrapped his arms tightly around the woman for no other reason than she was right there in front of him, but then lifted up her head to peck her quite gently on her teasing lips. When he departed from her, he smiled softly. "The _floor_ was screaming last night?"

A soft blush drifted across the girl's usually pale face. "What on earth could you be referring to?" she shook her head in a rather thought provoking way, knowing full well what he was alluding to as well as what was coming next in the conversation.

"Oh nothing," he brought his head close to her ear, and ran his lips slowly over the soft skin of her neck, hearing that slow exhalation of breath which sounded remarkably close to a low moan. "Merely," he breathed gently, "your enthusiasm last night." His grip on her hips grew tighter as his thumbs moved gently towards her middle.

"Albus," she sighed.

He didn't stop anything, just rolled his thumbs along her hips and kissed her neck gently.

She fell back limply, whispering his name over and over again, pleading to stop, though never mentioning the word; reminding him not so subtly of the evening before where he made love to her again and again. Eventually the woman moved her head to the selected side as an attempt to keep him away from her succulent skin in which case he caught her lips and sucked them close to him. The man smiled at her. "I do hope you know how hard I'm fighting the urge to just…" he stopped to find the right word—

"Shh," she put her finger to his lips with a delighted sparkle in her eyes, "I understand." The woman took a quick glance down at their hips with a smile curling on her lips, "And I certainly do know. But you must remember Albus," she raised an eyebrow, "we have all day…and the day after that and the day after that. While I don't doubt that you've caused me to burn your breakfast already, I will not make a habit of burning down kitchens. Now come downstairs…" The woman walked backwards with raised eyebrows as if to seduce him yet again. It was only natural that the potentially drooling Albus followed Minerva.

* * *

Albus watched from behind as Minerva placed the baking pan as well as their plates (after many words, the man forced her to eat a fluffy circle of goodness) into the sink, though she used a charm to have them cleaned. The woman was remarkably at ease, he noticed, laughing and making those intelligent and perhaps sarcastic remarks that he had been missing since the first evening. While he could not deny that from day one he had somehow fallen in love with the girl, he also realized that she sort of…slipped away after the initial two days and drowned in something he could not quite distinguish, other than maybe memories. Ah, but she was suddenly back after their evening together and he could not help but believe that it had something to do with what he had to say to the woman in regards to her dreaming; there was no trouble at all for the man in pinpointing the moment where her disposition was changed: the minute that he mentioned that they were together (and could quite possibly stay together) there was a switch in the woman; Minerva was all of a sudden quite calm and intelligent—unafraid, perhaps.

She approached him with a smile, sitting herself on the kitchen table while he still held a place in a chair. "So," she sighed, "what now?"

When he shrugged, the woman screwed up her face, unable perhaps to find a worthy suggestion. "It's a lovely day outside; the rain has stopped. I imagine it will be back some time in the near future, but for the moment, the sky is cloudless. I don't suppose you'd want to go for a walk? Or," she rolled her eyes, not as subtly as he would have thought, "there is always the lake to swim in, since you're farfetchedness has rubbed off on me, I daresay I may not make too large of a quibble."

He blinked as the dream he'd had a few days before flashed through his mind: water, rock, skin, Minerva; what a beautiful thought it was. It would be beneficial for him, he decided, to take the water route, but he knew as well as the woman that she didn't wish to go; she only suggested it for his sake. Thus, he spoke rather gently to her, "A walk would be lovely. You seem to be in a talkative mood."

Her eyes sparkled brightly as an encore and she leaned down to peck him on the lips. "I'll go and get something decent on. I folded your clothes from yesterday on the settee. If you feel so inclined," a smile played at her lips, "there's a second bedroom underneath the stairs where you can dress yourself. I'll be down soon."

Then she was off. Minerva dashed up the stairs and Albus watched with a sense of curiosity; he had always been quite aware that the woman was, in comparison to him, more of a _girl_ as far as age went, but he had never quite noticed the fact that she was quite capable of appearing more as a child than as a woman; in those few moments that he spoke with her, she was light and happy, much like any primary student. A deep smile crossed his lips for it quite suddenly hit him: he was in love with a…well, a girl of many personalities and talents.

With a slow chuckle and then a shrug, he found his way to where they first made love, by the fireplace. Not waiting at all, the man put on his clothes, completely avoiding the other chamber and stood in the room, completely alone as he heard footsteps running back and forth from upstairs. He rotated directions to face: door, stairs, fireplace—there was something interesting that grabbed him at the mantelpiece, however; she'd placed pictures there, sometime over her duration at Hermit Lake.

His finger traced over a smiling child's face that could only be considered Minerva's: she had deep dark hair, beautiful gray eyes, and very rosy cheeks. She appeared to be about eight, having the front tooth missing and a black and white dotted dress, and was being twirled around by a woman who Albus could only assume to be her mother; and had he not been completely in love with the older Minerva, he was nearly certain that he would have been able to fall in love with the girl's mother: pretty smile, bright eyes, golden hair, nice face—and a mother to top it all.

Never mind that though; he knew from the two of them that Minerva would one day have absolutely beautiful children—and Albus could not help but believe that perhaps he would be the father. It was not that he was dying to have children of his own, but rather that the man wanted someone to love and then perhaps others…Albus had a girl he wanted for life already; he merely wanted the cherry to go on top of the sundae.

Vision darting, there came yet another picture; the only other one and stared very deeply into her eyes—Minerva's to be exact. The photograph was a muggle one, considering it did not move, and quite possibly professionally done. She looked somewhere into the distance in the picture, clutching her necklace tightly between her fingers. Not long ago, he could tell, the snapshot had been taken—maybe a year or two—and she looked absolutely ravishing besides the fact that there hung no smile on her lips; in fact, there was hardly an expression at all, except for perhaps perplexity. Albus had seen that expression upon her face before, when she was on the dock in the early morning hours and he was watching her, as confused as the woman had been.

He wondered what she had been thinking…or if indeed she had been thinking at all.

"Ready," she placed a hand on his shoulder; Albus turned around slowly, though his impulse was to jump as quickly as possible to face her.

"These are interesting pictures," he nodded slowly. "Your mother was quite beautiful…and you _are_ beautiful, if you don't mind my saying."

A soft smile crossed her lips. "Thank you. Are you ready then?"

Up and down his head moved as a sign of readiness and thus, the two of them exited the door and went out to the edge of the lake. They began walking silently, hand in hand, until they approached the willow tree which is where they spent their first day together. There, under the branches and tangles of leaves, Minerva began speaking quite softly: "We haven't talked very much about your work. Of course I know that you teach at Hogwarts, but I've always wondered what exactly that entails." When he gave her a befuddled expression, she continued to explain herself. "I mean, you receive your own rooms and lavatories? What about cleaning facilities? I know that there was a wash room made for prefects and head boy and girl, is there just one for the professors?"

The man let out a small chuckle. What a way to start off the day! "Funny you should ask," he smiled, "about lavatories, I mean. It's a rather sore subject, actually. The heads of houses and headmaster receive their own complete lavatory system where as there are three others for the other teachers. We've conducted a schedule for the use of the washing facilities, but there have been problems with that. You see, for some odd reason, there always seems to be a mix up…and, well, it's rather uncomfortable for both sexes. It's always at the first week…I wouldn't put it past any of the ghosts to change the schedule, particularly Peeves."

Minerva smiled softly. "I remember Peeves," she sighed. "He was such a tawdry piece of work, spreading all the filth he could. I remember once he dropped rotten eggs right in front of the Gryffindor common room. It smelled for weeks."

"I remember that," he thought back fondly. "They had to invent a new cleaning supply to defeat _that_ scent. What wonderful years those were…" he chased off. Yes, those years were absolutely wonderful.

The girl grinned and then blinked, an idea suddenly occurring to her. "Professor Dippit is still there, is he not? He must be nearing the end of his headmastership? You would be the next headmaster, am I correct?"

Albus shrugged. "Armando is still at the school, doing well. I daresay he still has several years in him; he still refuses to miss pub night," when he saw the woman's eyes raise slightly, he added, "don't let me forget to tell you about it. Anyhow, despite our objections, he still goes and he swears up and down that he's not heading for retirement. The man loves it at Hogwarts, not that I blame him…who'd want to retire to nothing?"

Her eyebrows rose yet again. "He doesn't have a family?" The woman's voice was disbelieving and sad; perhaps she was feeling quite suddenly how Albus felt about a lonely future—certainly she was; had the woman not just told him of how very afraid she was of being alone last evening?

"No," he shook his head, "Armando always says that the students are his children. I can't blame him, either. Being a headmaster is hard work and besides that," his voice grew softer, perhaps out of pity for the man who he had always esteemed, "he once tried marriage and it ended most horribly."

The girl beside him had a distinctly lowered jaw by this point, revealing her pale complexion that was riddled with wonder. Her hand squeezed the man's gently and of course she inquired further; Albus saw that interest upon her face, even if she appeared to be (and most certainly was) empathetic: "May I ask what happened?"

Certainly it was not the story of Albus to tell, but he was thus inclined, if only for the sake of keeping that concerned look upon Minerva's face. He knew Armando well and found no harm in telling what occurred for it was simply one of those stories that proved the workings of the real world and knowing about people was the only way to learn…

Albus spoke plainly to the woman, drawing back any sort of opinions he most certainly had. "She didn't come home one day—or any other, for that matter."

"And," she paused slowly, "she went with someone else?"

A nod was the response she received. "Apparently she went with many other someone elses; many of which were work colleagues and friends of Armando's…you see, she worked in the ministry and he worked at the school; they rarely saw each other. It's quite possible that she was flaunting herself about long before Armando's attention was drawn to it." Albus stopped as they fell underneath the shade of yet another tall standing tree, grasped a rock, and chucked it at the water, perhaps out of boredom or anger. He pressed on slowly as a quiet and thoughtful Minerva looked at him. "The divorce was rather trying on Armando; he loved Tulley a little bit too much for words, I think." He said his last bit while staring at the woman with her calm, mysterious eyes, and saw her cognition of such a matter; only a girl who had been put through such an ordeal could have such full, sad, knowing eyes—Albus had never previously received such a knowing stare. And he was suddenly reminded of the day before when she was asking about Eleanor; Minerva had inquired if the girl had left him and his response had simply been that it was accidental…that she hadn't meant to leave him.

So that was it, he deduced, Minerva had been left by someone for whom she cared very deeply (other than her mother) and thus she cried out for that person in her sleep. What was it that she had been saying the evening before? _Why didn't you love me? I loved you._ Ah, how simple and yet daunting it was; the girl had been very, very heartbroken.

He smiled at the woman, mentally congratulating himself on his conclusion and physically showing his adoration for the creature who was able to work past pain as he had, though he was sure that her pain was not inflicted decades before, considering the girl was only twenty-four. No, Minerva's hurt was a new one, at least in the sense of a life. Of course, that did not take away his curiosity as to the story, but he now knew where most of her quirks came and that was a release on his own soul.

"Minerva?" he asked gently, daring to touch the subject he'd been wondering about for what seemed like an eternity.

She was sweet in her response, though perhaps slightly mystical. "Yes, Albus?"

"Do you remember last night when you told me that you were afraid of being alone?"

Bobbing her head, the woman's eyes dilated slowly; she was blatantly afraid of what he was about to say, but he shook his head gently and wrapped his arms around her so that they were stationary beneath the fiery morning sun, next to the shimmering, picturesque lake. "Well I want you to know that you don't have to be afraid. I'll be by your side forever if you'll let me…these stories about life won't apply to you if you won't let them."

Her arms held tight to him, wrapped from the back, trailing her hands to his shoulders which were clutching for no apparent reason, yet she buried her face in his chest and said not a word. Both of them knew that she was meaning to cry, but she held it in to a deep, thoughtful inhalation as he ran one hand through her hair and another along her perfect spine.


	11. A Visit

Well everybody, I find great humor in this chapter! I hope you see it too! And yup, there are gonna be one or two "aws" in there!

* * *

Chapter Eleven: A Visit

He held her tightly, wrapping both of his arms around her waist while her arms were draped about his neck as they moved to the enchanted piano's concerto whilst the dark swarmed in around them from the wonderful day. What a wonderful day it had been, indeed: walking along the shore, talking, laughing, the odd kiss here and there—absolutely wonderful. Minerva found herself wishing for the first time in such a very long time that the day would not end and she could find herself in perpetual happiness; she wished with all of her heart that the evening would be good to her for once in her life; no nightmares, no screaming, no Edwin, nothing that would make her mind be changed with Albus.

Perhaps, Minerva reasoned with herself, she did love him. Maybe her wish that his arms would never leave her or that he'd whisper something soft into her ear meant something; maybe she had finally found happiness in someone; maybe life could be easier if she felt the way she did in those moments all of the time of the rest of her existence; maybe she could finally say "love" and mean it; maybe she was fooling herself just like she had with Edwin—or perhaps not.

Love's definition, she had been told, was the need for a person so great, that without them, life would not be worth living. It was such a simple meaning, lacking any gray areas when all around it was black and white, that it gave way to the fact that love should be easy to distinguish, but it was not. There were so many factors, so many fears, that she was unable to separate into what mattered and what did not. All she did know, all she could _possibly_ know, was that things felt so incredibly right when he held her close; so close that she was nearly a part of him, breathing and feeling as he did.

The woman looked up at him, not for the first time or the last, and suspected him of having the very same glimmer in his eyes as she felt herself to have. She wanted to call it love, but never trusting herself to speak such a word, referred to it as happiness; people always had those shimmering eyes when all in the world seemed to be right.

But maybe he saw more than just happiness when she dared to stare upon him, for he whispered ever so gently, almost heartbreakingly slow, "I love you."

There was a fear deep down inside the woman as she said the words, but they didn't feel so close to a lie as they once had, "I love you too."

And he kissed her; nothing elaborate or hardly even sexual, but just a simple kiss that left her lips tingling, aching for another touch to stop the shaking. She didn't ask for, nor even imply that she wanted him to make contact with the woman again (despite her urge to do so), but rather stood in awe for a fair few seconds before drawing her head to his chest and began whispering tenderly.

"You're much too good to me."

Being the giant he was, the man moved closer to her by placing his head on top of hers, and then spoke back to her, "I don't believe you've ever been treated well to begin with."

She blinked, unknown to him, and had a quick, sad thought of the last three years before responding to the man, who had not asked a question but who she knew was very desperate for the truth. "I haven't been," she sighed. "I've never had anyone love me." The truth hurt sometimes, and with those words there was no exception, for she felt a strong pain in her throat that she'd never been able to eradicate.

All at once, the darkness from the outside seemed to invade the man's home and the piano's music seemed to fade, though it had not been told to stop, and Albus stopped moving also, though he continued to hold her. There seemed to be a long, deafening silence before the man spoke, but it was in a voice that she did not believe she had ever heard, drawing a sad, almost lonely sort of tone, "But you have been in love before?"

Certainly, she had been in love, but she did not respond with such a sure voice when the nerve to speak was finally brought up after countless moments. "Yes," her voice shook.

"Minerva," he ran a hand through her long hair, "please tell me what happened to him—to you, because of him. I've heard you cry in your sleep these last two nights and I feel so helpless, watching you toss and turn and cry—you cried last night by the fire. I know you turned to keep me from realizing it, but I did, and it made me feel all the more sad that you couldn't tell me why or what or who."

She had not told anyone, not ever, what had happened; even her mother had been in the dark with certain events. No one but Minerva ever knew the "why" of it all, other than perhaps the fact that alcohol had gotten the better of him. While it was true that she earned the promotion which the man resented at that time, she had to forego it in order to become well, and even so, Edwin had heard the news long before it was meant to be announced to anyone. No one but Minerva would ever know that her lover had taken on a drunken rage after learning that his younger, perhaps a wee bit less experienced fiancée, had earned a position that he had been waiting to take.

Minerva could never tell him it all, even if she was able to muster some of it; she wouldn't wish it upon anyone, let alone herself, to see or think about what she saw in or out of her dreams.

"It isn't quite that simple," she whispered, "the what and why and who are complicated."

"And the when and where and how?"

Despite herself, a bittersweet smile crossed her face. He was a compassionate person, but he was rather like a child some days; an inquisitive child, at that. Albus wanted to know far too much far too soon; he wasn't ready for the story of her heartbreak anymore than she was ready to tell it—well, perhaps that was her fear speaking, but he couldn't handle the truth, even if he wanted. "It's all complicated," she sighed, "all…all I know is that he never loved me like you love me."

There was a silence, suddenly quite thoughtful, where Minerva could only think of her last few words which she realized she meant with everything inside of her; Albus loved her. She could not dispute it, though she sometimes wished she could for her own want of staying well out of heartbreak's way, but that was impossible. He loved her like no one ever had, and she knew for one, and only one, reason: he wanted to listen; the man wanted inside her head, inside her being; Albus…Albus saw that she would only be happy with the person who would, in a manner of speaking, break her down and then build her up.

His arms pulled her as near to him as possible, so close that she could hear his quickening heartbeat, and then she thought he was going to speak, but nothing came. The man, it seemed, was quite suddenly unable to say a word.

The woman lifted her head away from Albus's chest and looked up at him. She could barely see his eyes in the darkness, but she could feel them upon her, staring deep, deep, deep down and she felt the most sudden urge to cry; he loved her like no other had ever even dreamed of loving her and that struck her not as odd, but as amazing. She loved him and he loved her, and he never wanted to leave her side; he wanted them to be happy forever and ever; Minerva found herself wanting, wishing, praying that she could be blessed with such a wonderful future.

Her fingers gently ran over his coarse chin and then lips, soon followed by the back of his neck; she pulled him to her and their lips met. His hand weaved through her long hair while the other cradled her back and she pushed for him, wanting to see him and only him, to feel him and only him on her skin, to taste his kiss and nothing more. She loved him.

* * *

There was darkness as there always was in the evening, but it didn't feel like it, not to Albus. The world suddenly seemed bright and cheerful and exhilarating as he had always hoped it would be.

She was in his grasp, resting her head upon his arm, twiddling her fingers with the stray hair on his chest while a contented smile hung on her lips. Minerva had not said a word in what seemed like forever, but he didn't care; he knew by her expression that she was happier than she had been in so very long and it was all his doing: his kiss, his touch, his love.

He ran a hand along the smooth skin of her back in sweet unconsciousness, trembling on the line between sleep and wake. Albus was suddenly living in a perfect world, in a perfect dream that he prayed would never end for he had the love of Minerva; he could see it in her eyes, her smile, her actions and her words—Merlin, he loved it when she spoke to him in that soft, caring, almost ignorant-to-the-world manner; she simply made everything better. But he didn't want to hear her voice that second, for he knew quite well that she was lost in the exact same thoughts as he was, and he would never dream of interrupting such an engaging oblivion.

The woman's moving hand grew weaker as the next few seconds fell upon them and Albus knew well as she knew that the both of them were very well on the brink of slumber. Very gently, he ran his fingers through the crevices of her hand and held it there on his chest to quell their bodies' need to move.

Minerva, however, appeared to have no wish at all to give in to the agony that was sleep, for her soft, somnolent voice crept through the airy darkness. "Albus?"

Against his better judgment as a man slowly entering sleep, he replied back throatily, "Hmmm?"

"What do you dream about when you dream?"

His nearly shut eyes opened ever so slightly, against his body's wishes at this question. It was certainly in her nature to be inquisitive, but the woman often kept clear of the subject of sleeping, if only because she knew well that she often gave way her nightmarish dreams in the evenings. Certainly, if she brought of the subject, Minerva would be willing to tell him about whatever horrors haunted her in slumber?

The man blinked, not only out of thought, but to stay awake. "I dream of many things," he yawned, "mostly things like students and work—and you, more recently."

She gave a soft sigh. "And what about me, is it that you dream?"

His mouth opened and then closed at the thought of saying something hardly appropriate—a crude joke was not fit at all for the moment and he would have been severely reprimanded for it. "Well," he yawned again, "just…you. Your smile and laughter and yes, unhappiness; mostly I've been dreaming about just being with you; doing little things that make couples a couple."

"Mmm," she squeezed his hand gently, "that sounds absolutely wonderful. Maybe tonight you can give me a happy dream and I won't," she yawned slowly, teetering on the edge of sleep, "I won't wake up and have tears on my face or you looking at me like I'm a…" she stopped, not for sleep, but to avoid finishing that painful sentence.

Albus did not know what she was going to say, but he had a vague idea and he had no need to hear the word either. Thus, he spoke to her in ignorance of her low self-esteem, unwilling to hear the woman he loved be brought down to such a sad level, "I don't believe I've ever looked at you as anything less than a human being and I never shall."

There was a short silence, though it felt like an eternity, where neither of them spoke, but they were very much awake. To his surprise, his lover was the one to break the silence, not him; she spoke remorsefully, "Why weren't you in my life after school?"

Slightly caught off guard by the question, he didn't know how to respond; it certainly would not have turned out the same if he met her earlier instead of later in a romantic setting. They may have disliked each other…she may have thought him a pervert; it wouldn't have worked and both of them, perhaps, saw that, but Minerva chose to avoid that thought. The woman was convinced that she was meant for Albus, and he, though he dare not say it at the time, felt the exact same way.

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, or perhaps simply to keep from reaching a point of absolute dreariness, she continued, her voice growing slightly strained as the words fell from her mouth; "I would have been spared so much pain. I would have fallen in love with you and you would have fallen in love with me and we could have been happy…and had children by now; one, maybe two of them. We'd have named one of them after you," her voice cracked depressingly, "and the other after someone close to both of us…you'd have met my mother. She'd have loved you, you know." She stopped rather abruptly after that, for no discernible reason other than the fact that she just brought up her mother who had not died long beforehand.

He ran a thumb along her wrist with a bittersweet smile on his face. "I'm sure she was a wonderful woman. She must have been, if she raised you." The man lifted his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of Minerva, who had a soft arch to her lips in some sort of relief. Then he put his head back down on the pillow as the darkness surrounded him.

The man blinked slowly to himself and recovered what Minerva had just said: they would have been in love and named their children after people who were important to them. Then he blinked some more as a red light flashed through his brain. Children? She didn't want children; she'd said so herself. He squeezed the woman's hand again, prepping himself for a most probable difficult conversation, and spoke with an obvious air of confusion, "I thought you didn't want children?"

When there was no answer, he lifted his head up again, only to see Minerva with her eyes shut and a constant breathing pattern. He fell back to his pillow and blinked to himself, suddenly aware of three very important facts: Minerva was asleep, she no longer wanted children, and that he badly wanted to shut his eyes for the evening. In the end, he let all of his thoughts leave his mind to give way to slumber.

* * *

Aberforth woke up bright and early for no reason at all; hell, he'd been up until three cleaning up the mucus from a band of bottle-dwelling dingerworms that one of his customers had brought. He wouldn't have allowed the creatures to come in, except for the fact that their owner bought half the pub out, buying rounds for everyone until two in the morning; it seemed the muggle carnival thing he'd been working at, finally got a big break and decided to cover another country (to make a total of three). So, in respect for good business, he let the dingerworms occupy his pub (and empty bottles) until their owner left, which at that exact time the whole of them seemed to decide to trail mucus in order to follow their master—damned carnie freaks.

He was among the oddest of them, Aberforth could do more outrageous stuff than any of them, but he decided to be normal and run a pub in the middle of Hogsmeade. He had no respect for those who flaunted their magical talents to muggles; it took away pride. After all, what pride was there after a few days of making your beard grow? For Merlin's sake, at least be original and make it polka-dotted! Or green! If he were really ingenious, the bloke who decided to be in a carnival would make their beard grow in twigs and then make a bird pop out. Oh, that would get the muggles talking!

However, the man had much more devious things to do in the early morning besides create new ensembles for himself or any other man who wished to humiliate himself in front of muggles—though he bore no discretion against them, besides the fact that they were unbelievably boring. Aberforth had a brother to see.

Blinking sadly to himself, he imagined how tedious it would be, spending the next day or two with his brother, and immediately grew downcast. Albus was such a bore when he was near; books and the ministry were not interesting subjects to the man, and he feared very much the lectures from the eldest on staying on task and when certain events were that he cared nothing for. Merlin, of all the uninteresting, stupid, mind-numbing things to talk about! He rolled his eyes. No, _he'd_ keep Albus interested for once; take him out for a night! Hell, both of them deserved it.

With a pop, he landed in front of his brother's summer home and opened the door. He was rather surprised to see now Albus anywhere, due in part to the fact that his brother was always up early, but then he figured maybe the man had finally gotten some sense into his system and was out cold from an evening of drinking. Now there was a lovely thought…

A smirk crossed his face as he tiptoed up the stairs to his brother's room. How wonderful it would be to just come barreling in there with something extremely loud; preferably something that bangs, not whistles. Oh, how Aberforth would have liked to wake him as he had been woken time and time again. He already had a line prepared for Albus, who claimed he did not believe in excessive drinking, but who had been caught on one or two occasions drinking a wee bit too much and waking with a rather malicious headache.

Still smiling evilly, he walked swiftly to the door, but stopped dead outside first, to transfigure himself a loud drum out of a rug that lined the corridor. When all was ready, he threw the door open, wand at hand to start the banging.

"Morning sunshine," he said rather loudly with a smile as he sent the banging drum over to the bed. Thump. Thump. Thump. It flew over by where the two pillows met and stopped there.

Immediately, he very, very, very much regretted his decision; not only had Albus been awake but he had been er…God, was that a…woman? He heard a loud shriek. Yes, definitely a woman. His brother looked up at him with a death glare wearing absolutely nothing, from on top of what he could only guess was a girl of twenty.

While he was rather amused by what he walked in on, he was much more afraid of the expression on his brother's face; Aberforth turned his back quickly and _ran_.

All he was aware of was the echo through the house, "Aaaaaaaberfoooorth!"

* * *

Short, I know, but to the point. Next chapter is gonna be nothing but giggles…and perhaps a few more "aws"….I hope.

Thank you everyone who has been supporting me and if it isn't too much trouble, do you think you could leave me a review and tell me how I'm doing? Reviews always prompt me to write quicker and harder (hint, hint)

-minni


	12. Aberforth

I received some reviews asking for a quicker update and what do you know? dun dun dun duuuun! I just fell in love with this chapter and coldn't get myself away from the computer. I don't know how soon the next chapter will be posted, however, I have a vacation to look forward to as well as the return of volleyball. :-\

anywho...enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Aberforth

Albus sat up from the bed quickly and grabbed his knickers, ready to chase his brother to the ends of the earth and then do away with him. "I'll kill him," he muttered as he put them on and grabbed his wand, "I'll blast him into oblivion. Damned brother; if I don't do it, someone else will," he spoke sardonically.

He turned when he was finished to look at the wide eyed and rather confused Minerva. She hadn't been spared any privacy at all with Aberforth walking in; he was not sure at all how much sheet had been covering the woman's thighs, but he was quite certain that nothing, except for him, was covering her chest. Albus didn't give a damn about his hindquarters being seen, or his back, but he _certainly_ gave a damn about Minerva being…displayed, for lack of better word. Yes, Aberforth would be a pile of ashes by the end of the hour.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently of Minerva.

She nodded slowly. "Albus…" she trailed off, looking from the door, to him, to the drum that fell at the side of the bed.

The man grabbed her hand gently. "Don't worry. I'll kill him twice over. Brother never did have a sense of privacy," he rolled his eyes. "Get dressed and I'll be back when he's been blown up."

Then he ran out the room, down the stairs, and to the bottom floor, where there was no Aberforth to be seen. Thus, he screamed, "Aberforth, if you don't show your abhorrent face right this second, I'll blow your pub _and_ you into a million tiny pieces!"

No response came. Albus took out his wand and waved it every large object in the room, that is, anything Aberforth could be hiding behind—he wouldn't dare leave; Albus knew exactly where to find him, anyhow, if he had.

Explosions erupted quite rhythmically as he pointed his wand from pot to pot and they were blown into oblivion; it sounded like a battlefield: _boom!_

Half the room was in shambles before he finally caught a glimpse of his brother's shaggy brown hair and unmistakable robes of lime green. The man pointed his wand directly at the bit of hat he saw and said quite calmly, though with a tinge of venom in his voice, "Come out now or you won't ever see the light of day again."

He peeked out from behind the enormous grandfather clock that he'd been hiding behind with a guilty and terrified face. His wand was shaking in his hand; no mocking expression would dare enter his face while Albus was irate—he'd learned long beforehand that taunting his brother when he was angry was a _very_ bad idea. "N-now, now, now, don't hurt me, Albus. I…I didn't even give it a thought that you'd have a…girl in there with you," he said slowly, careful not to step over the line of courtesy.

Clutching his wand tightly, he held it up to face his brother, but made no other move. "Did it ever occur to you that I am on holiday, Aberforth?" He decided to take it slow; Albus was perfectly capable of killing the man, but he didn't _really_ want to do that if he could avoid it—he had never heard good things about Azkaban.

"Certainly," he nodded, "which is why I did what I did in the first place. I figured, since you weren't up, that you had gone out drinking or something of the like; never would it have occurred to me that you'd have taken someone home to sleep with; I mean, how old are you?"

Albus blinked to himself. His brother was on the brink of being a pile of ash, yet he still had the nerve to insult him; he'd been wrong, Aberforth had little care for his angry brother's feelings, or his own life for that matter. Some things never change. "I'm not much older than you and you still take women home all the time. Of course, they're normally a little bit worse for wine," he responded menacingly.

"True, but…_you?_ Come now, man!" he waved his arms about dramatically, "When is the last time you let anyone near you? Women have never been your forte and it's wrong of you to assume that I would assume that _you_ would have anyone of any decency in your bed," he stopped as a thought occurred to him, "Who is she, anyway?"

Taking a very, very deep breath, he exhaled slowly, releasing the tight grip on his wand and bringing it down. "She works for the ministry and was one of my students. If you've scared her off or if you say anything to her that is unruly, I _will_ kill you and make it look like an accident."

Aberforth had a wide smile cross his face. "Tsk, tsk. Dear Albus has fallen in love, have you not?"

There was no use in saying no; it would only come out later anyhow. "I have, yes."

The younger brother chuckled to himself out of sheer delight; he ran into much more than he had suspected by arriving; yet another person in his little circle to tease had come. "Might I ask how old this former student of yours is?"

It was destined to sound horrible, their age difference, but he didn't care and said it anyway. Who gave a care if there was a sixty year difference? "Twenty-four."

"Ha," Aberforth laughed aloud out of sheer amusement. "No wonder you're tangling yourself up so early in the morning. Merlin, if I had someone that young I'd be on overdrive and loving it. For someone like you…that's got to be heaven," he shook his head in disbelief and yet amusement. "I'd fall in love with any twenty-four year old that came _my_ way, too!"

Albus ran his thumb up and down his wand methodically. It was not at all that Aberforth was making a situation out of the age difference, but what he deduced because of it. While Albus could certainly not deny that the sex was invigorating, he also knew that it wasn't like that; he loved Minerva long before they made love. "If you'd ever fallen in love in your life, Aberforth, you'd know that age doesn't mean a thing."

Shaking his head slowly, the younger brother sighed, suddenly growing quite serious after hearing the accusation. His head was suddenly held quite high and indignation was written all across his face. "While it is true that I've never been engaged or flaunted myself and a girl to the press—"

He couldn't stand for that sort of accusation, never. Albus never _flaunted_ himself or anybody. Neither reporters nor the public had any right to know about his affairs—though he certainly could not deny that they'd found out on more than one occasion. "_Flaunt?_ I have never so much as flaunted a toe to the press!"

"Think what you want," he shook his head, "but if I were you, I'd ask that girl of yours. Power and fame attract women. I know that you're aware that I am in disagreement with everything about your life as you are of mine, but it's obvious to me that you're heading rather far over the hill to be _in love_ with someone that young, where as you have many other things to offer besides yourself."

Albus was about to retort with some unbearably nasty comment when he realized his brother's blank stare past him—not at him. His mouth hung dumbly open for a fair few seconds before Albus turned around to be faced with Minerva, who had wide eyes herself and had turned a new shade of white. She looked up at Albus and blinked slowly.

Clearing his throat, Albus opened an arm to welcome Minerva into the conversation he and Aberforth had been having. "This is Minerva McGonagall. Min, this is my loutish brother, Aberforth."

She nodded her head slowly. "Hello."

There were several minutes of agonizingly awkward silence where Minerva looked from one brother to the next in complete and utter dismay. Albus felt that he should say something, but there was nothing to say; Minerva had most certainly heard that last statement—what could she possibly be thinking? After a debated many seconds, the woman balanced her head to look up at her lover, blinking gently, and then spoke to him, "If you don't mind, I think I ought to go home. You need to spend time with your brother."

She stepped away from Albus, awaiting the reply.

Of course, it would have been intelligent of him to agree to the woman leaving, but she needed to stay so that the three of them could become friends; while Albus acted as if he hated his brother—and he did every now and then—he also trusted the man's judgment, quite foolishly. He wanted the two of them to get along…to trust each other as he trusted them. He stared at Minerva gently. "Please don't leave on account of him."

The woman, who suddenly seemed so very much like a girl between two much older men, shook her head gently. "I refuse to stay here. I'm leaving with or without your consent, Albus."

He sighed, knowing well that Minerva would do as she said. He didn't want her to go, that would be dangerous to their relationship, but he couldn't very well let her leave on bad terms. "Come by later after you feel better. Aberforth, I'm sure, isn't planning on leaving for a day or two—come back, won't you?"

She looked past Albus to his brother who was looking very guilty indeed and then back at him. "Of course I'll come back." Then she gave him a highly sad look and walked through the threshold. It was not two seconds after the door had shut that he heard a pop, letting him know that she had most certainly apparated as quickly as she could away from his house.

Albus turned to face his brother, feeling a new wave of anger. While he wanted to scream and then blast the idiot into oblivion, he chose to keep control of himself, thus, he nodded very coolly and spoke to him, "I'm going to sleep now. You may stay or go, but if you stay here, I do not want to hear a peep out of you for as long as I am in my bedroom." And then he too left, up the stairs and into bed, where a drum sat still on top of an untouched pillow.

* * *

Minerva gave a hard swallow as she walked into her bedroom, still in disarray from the day and evening before: the pillows were strewn all across the room, two in one corner and one on the opposite side; there were hardly any sheets covering the bed, due in part to the fact that they covered a majority of the floor, resting humbly; the only part of the room at all that was clean was near the glass door that led to the balcony. The woman walked slowly towards it, opened the door, and walked to the view of the lake, sitting on the edge of the balcony so that her feet dangled high above the ground.

She sighed sadly and angrily at the same time; where did that man have any room at all to speak for her? Where in hell did he have the means to see her with her lover, making love, for that matter? Not to mention criticize her after it?

It was very true and very important that he was the brother of the man she loved, which therefore meant that she had a reason to be friendly with the man, but first impressions had not been kind to her at all. Minerva had no will (besides the fact that it would make Albus happy) to like or even speak with…was his name Aberfink? Abertly? Aber…Aber…Aber-something. Well, anyhow, she wanted nothing to do with him, who obviously thought her nothing more than a petty, glorified whore.

Ah, but that was not the end of it, for he was to be near her rather often if she were to ever…ever be with Albus…publicly…personally…forever. The awful man would be lurking around every corner, only because he was Albus's brother. Oh, what an awful thought!

Clenching the railing tightly, Minerva shook it gently, if only to vent out some of the anger she had just acquired.

"I can tell right now that it isn't a wise thing to anger you," a familiar, fulfilling voice spoke from not too far behind her.

She turned quickly to see Albus who looked much taller than she had ever seen him. He was smiling softly, perhaps at his own joke, perhaps for the sight of her. He approached her at a slow pace and then sat beside the woman, letting his own feet fall off the edge of the balcony and placed his arm around Minerva.

Gladly, she placed her head on his chest and took in a slow breath, happy to be in his arms and fear nothing, as was the feeling he always gave to her. She did not feel it right to start speaking to him after such an uncomfortable scene, at least not to start the conversation, and apparently neither did the man, for he held his tongue for far too many moments. Neither of them wanted to start, but they both wanted to speak—Minerva could feel it in his heart beat, which was far from irregular.

In the end, he did start talking, but it was almost an unwilling voice that caught her ears; perhaps remorseful would be a better word.

"You can't be mad at him, Minerva, not for what he said in any case; that's my business. He was merely looking out for me, trying to make me see the truth, or the potential truth, anyhow."

"And what," she responded slowly, "is the potential truth?"

Albus sighed gently. "I am not as young as I once was and let's face it, you are very young. It looks bad, especially when I have such an influence in the wizarding world. Of course I know that we're in love, but others may understand it to be the attachment of a bachelor and advantage of a young thing, as you are."

She looked up at him, staring intently, suddenly aware of the position in which she had placed herself. Originally, yes, she did look at Albus as being something special in the sense that everyone knew his name, but once she got to know him, that thought process completely disintegrated and she understood _why_ so many people looked up to the man; he was wonderful and brilliant—so brilliant that any self respecting girl would throw herself at him, just to be seen with him and perhaps get the satisfaction of becoming the new rumor the Daily Prophet. That sort of behavior was disgusting, but it happened; she most likely did come off that way; she'd only been with him for less than a week.

Minerva shook her head slowly. "I am young, but that does not mean that I don't have a sense of what's right and wrong—and I would like to say here and now that your brother was very, very wrong for coming in like that—just because I'm younger doesn't mean that I'm a petulant child who must have her way and will do anything for it."

"I know that," he pulled her closer to him, "but not everyone else does. Frankly, I don't care about everyone else, but I do care about my brother; he's the only family I have now…and I refuse to end it on the premises of a woman."

She sighed, knowing full well that throwing any sort of tantrum wouldn't help the situation; she had to talk to the brother or else her relationship _would_ be destroyed, and she could not stand that sort of pain again. "I don't like him. What sort of a person barges into a room that is not his in the morning, banging a drum?"

Despite himself, it seemed, a small grin appeared on his face. "He was very wrong for coming in like that, I'll give you that, and I plan on giving him a nasty jinx when he's about to leave for it, but you must understand our relationship; we're a pair of pranksters, him and I, and it's in our natures to do whatever possible to waver the other. He simply thought that he'd be waking me from a late night—not a late escapade with my lover.

—don't look at me like that," he shook his head at the woman, "He's heard plenty of words from me for it and there will be more. I am in no way excusing his behavior for looking in on us, but what I am unfortunately saying is that it isn't an irregular happening."

Staring intently with a glare, the woman took in a deep breath. "I don't want to come in any contact with him."

Albus shook his head and pecked her gently on the top of her head. "He'll watch his mouth now, Minerva. The old boy is scared of me, even if he pretends like he isn't. I daresay, Aberforth will be quite civil to you."

Minerva sighed. She didn't want to do it, but she would for Albus, whom she loved and whom she planned to love. "If he'll do me the courtesy of being civil, I suppose I can do the same," she rolled her eyes.

"That's a girl," he squeezed her again. "Since we've got that settled," he lifted her chin up so that she looked straight into his eyes, "Tell me again just why I was making love to you earlier?"

A blush, deep rose, came to her cheeks quickly at the thought that nixed her angry mood over the brother. Minerva woke in a rather strange and perhaps kinky mood, which seemed to spread rather quickly as they'd awoken together; the idea to use whipped cream in their morning glory even came into her head, though Albus wanted her too badly to go and retrieve it. "I asked you to," she whispered gently to the man who had a familiar glimmer in his eyes.

"Really?" he whispered into her ear. "But you didn't just ask me," he pulled her waist down to the floor so that she was lying on the balcony deck. Smiling, he kissed her soundly on the lips, releasing a desire in her system that left her wanting him—wanting his kiss, touch, body. "If I recall," he placed a hand on either side of her and stared down daringly, "You damn near begged me." Albus kissed her again, this time sliding his tongue into her hot mouth, searching for the point where she would most certainly beg him to do it again. He lifted himself up gently off her and grinned while Minerva stared at the man, completely enraged that he had such an effect on her after she'd been so angry with his brother.

"That isn't fair," she said breathlessly, not wanting herself to succumb to the man who was so very much stronger than her in every sense possible.

The man smiled impishly. "Tell me, Minerva, what is it that you said earlier?" he ran his hand along her rosy cheek. "Please, Albus," he whispered in the closest voice to a girlish one that he had, "please. Make love to me. I want you. Please."

She rolled her eyes. God, and she was in love with that man? "Albus," she smiled and placed a finger on his lips, "If you're attempting to taunt me, you're not pulling it off."

"I'm not taunting you," he grinned innocently, "I am seducing you."

Despite herself, she let out an amused giggle. "Your methods, I think, need a little bit of enlivening."

His eyes went off, twinkling as a wry smile came across his features. "Care to give me a lesson?"

Minerva rolled her eyes again.

_Three hours later_

Yes, she was going to do it, even though she really had no intention of it. Aberforth was still not on her favorite people list, but Albus made her feel much better, even prone to giving the idiot a second chance. Thus, she knocked on the door to her lover's house (knowing full well that Aberforth would be the one answering the door due to Albus's threat to the man) and waited patiently for the door to open while looking at her muggle dress of blue.

When the man answered, he looked very surprised indeed. "Hello. My brother is er…sleeping upstairs. I don't suppose he'd have a problem with you waking him."

She nodded her head sweetly. "How long has he been in bed?" It was only her curiosity that made her ask—Albus had only been in his room for perhaps the last hour. The woman was completely enraptured in the idea of sneaking something behind anyone's back—even if it was something as silly as her lover slipping away to be with her.

"He's been locked up in his room for a little bit over three hours; I can't imagine him sleeping all that time," he scratched his head while staring rather intently upon the woman, "but stranger things have happened." He brought his hand awkwardly down and opened the door much wider so that the woman could enter, which she did.

The place had been tidied up a bit since the time that she left, she realized; not a single piece of pottery was smashed, but put into its rightful place, completely restored by the wonders of magic. Despite herself, the woman had to find a sense of self to Aberforth, who fixed his mess and apparently…cleaned the kitchen?

Minerva turned towards the man awkwardly as she walked to the center of the bottom floor where everything was visible. "You cleaned up, I see."

Aberforth nodded slowly. "I thought it was something of my duty…" he trailed off.

The woman could tell that the man wanted to say something more, perhaps apologize, but she would have nothing of it, not quite then. Instead, she turned towards the kitchen which had no scorch marks of any kind and everything appeared as it had the very first time she entered his home; there was even a sweet smell to the room. "I daresay," she sighed as she ran a hand along the burner of the stove which had previously been indecipherable, "that you've outdone yourself," she turned back towards the brother, "I don't expect that it will be long before Albus forgives you; he didn't want to clean the kitchen."

Nodding slowly, the man spoke back as if he were afraid of the woman's response to his question, "I suppose you'll find it hard to forgive me for my atrocious behavior earlier?"

Men never ceased to amaze her. Minerva stared at Aberforth, who obviously carried the family trait of being blunt, and then nodded herself. "Might I ask," she inquired gently, "what you expected to accomplish by bursting into Albus's bedroom in the morning?"

He shrugged. "In my head, I had figured that he was suffering from too much alcohol; of course only after the fact did it occur to me that he doesn't drink—not in the masses, anyhow. I am deeply mortified at what took place; please believe me when I say that I had no idea that I'd run into…well, my brother and you."

"I believe you," she sighed as she opened up a spotless cabinet, "but I don't believe that it's something that is immediately forgivable. Of course, I'd never dream of depriving you the sight of your brother and a…what was the word you used?" she whispered gently, "_power_ driven girl," the woman blinked softly.

Aberforth blinked hard, visibly ashamed of what he had said where lady's ears were listening. "I was only looking out for my brother. Forgive me, but I've known him much longer than you and I know that he is capable of being rather gullible; I was only making sure that he hadn't put himself into a bad situation. And," he stared straight at Minerva with blue-green eyes, "forgive me again, but you are rather pretty—it's the pretty ones that he's always had to worry about, seeing as how he's perfectly capable of getting one just by the mention of his name."

Minerva shook her head gently. "I don't need to prove to anyone that I love him," she whispered, "but for your sake and our relationship, I'll tell you that he's everything that I've ever wanted. I'd take him even if he didn't have a penny and be happy." Aberforth looked at her, slightly bewildered at her straightforwardness, but it was apparent that he was paying very close attention and most probably believed her—as she believed herself. "I wouldn't trade these last few days I've had with him for anything and I expect to get nothing out of it, except perhaps love from your brother."

In awe, Aberforth stared before allowing a smile to cross his face. "Well Miss McGonagall, I daresay you're either a fantastic actress, or right off your heels in love—I'll go with the latter. Welcome to the family," he shrugged.

Something amazing happened in that following second as she registered the words of Aberforth; she smiled. It suddenly occurred to her that she'd decided her entire life by saying something with no forethought at all; she wanted to be by Albus for ever. And what's more…his brother accepted her—not even Edwin's family had wanted her. "I don't think," she said modestly, "that it's far enough into the relationship to say that, but thank you."

Aberforth smiled. "If my brother decides he's going to fall in love, he does it; I don't expect it will be long at all, if that's the case."

She nodded with not surprised, but still wide eyes. "I think," she said absentmindedly, "I'll go and wake him." And then she fled up the stairs. When she was at the top, she looked down through the giant square at Aberforth, who was looking down at his feet—though Minerva was sure his eyes had been on her only seconds before then. Minerva was suddenly glad that she overheard their conversation earlier; she'd fallen in love with a man whose brother was perhaps horrible at judgment, but a good brother nevertheless; it was nice to see that she could have a future with a real _family_.

With a smile upon her face, she entered the chamber of Albus; he was sitting on his bed, reading some book that had red and yellow dots on its black cover. The woman smiled softly as she approached him and sat next to him on the bed. "How is it?" she whispered gently into his ear.

"The book? It's absolute poppycock; something about designing genetics to make animals have characteristics—I ask you, who would _want_ to know what color their children's eyes were beforehand?" He looked at Minerva for a second, where she had supposed the answer was rhetorical and then took her hand gently into his. "You were downstairs for an awfully long time?"

Grinning gently, she kissed him on the lips. "I had a chat with your brother. You're right," she blinked, "he is a good man—bad judgment, yes, but good nonetheless. He…he apologized again and he explained to me why he said what he said earlier to you. I think we're on rather good grounds now—not that I'll ever in my life forgive him for what happened this morning."

"I'm proud of you, Min." He pecked her softly on the lips and then his eyes grew wide as a thought no doubt occurred to him. "Just how much of you did he see earlier?"

She shrugged. "Enough." When he stared at her inquisitively, she went on, "the majority of my left side. I'm not sure…and I don't think I wish to know any more than I already do."

The man nodded. "I'll bet you anything he's in the kitchen, drooling right now, now that he's met you," he stated playfully.

"I doubt it," she raised an eyebrow, "and besides that, what business have you of hoping that your brother is dreaming of me? That's just sick."

Smiling widely, Albus spoke back to the woman, "That means I win; I get the girl."

"Well," she lifted up nose curtly, "I don't think I want to be part of your idiotic games—or pranks for that matter, and I _certainly_ will not be part of your competitions. If that's all that this is, then I quit."

Albus gave a chuckle. "You know, I _do_ love you."

She glanced back down at the man, unable to act angry or even pestered in the slightest. "I love you too, unfortunately."

He shook his head while a smile waited on his face, "I don't need any comments, my dear. A simple 'I love you' will do wonders for my ego."

"Your ego doesn't need any more buffering," she smiled wryly. "Any more and you'll have had an overdose in which case you'll explode; Merlin forbids that happen." And she slid off the bed and then out of the room. The woman waited at the top of the stairs for the man, who came out, running, after her. A giggle escaped her lips at the sight of him. "I daresay, Albus, I've just earned myself bragging rights."

"By what way," he said as they walked down the stairs, "do you believe that?"

"Simple," she laughed again. "You've just lost the girl and chased after her in your knickers."

He stopped to look at himself and then at Minerva. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

She grinned. "I'm not the one who's poking out," she raised an eyebrow after taking a glance at his knickers and then continued on her merry way down the stairs.

* * *

"I think it's rather out of sorts myself, to be drinking anything after that horrendous incident this morning," Minerva's sweet voice crossed the table. "After all, is that not what caused everything to happen? Really Albus, your brother figured you'd been drinking and then the both of us were discovered!"

The girl was much happier, Albus saw, after having a drink or two; much more relaxed. No, she wasn't inebriated, perhaps on the brink of tipsy, but she was in a good spot, and it was nice to be seeing that. The woman nearly perfectly fit into their little circle, laughing and acting up as he and Aberforth did.

Minerva, Aberforth, and Albus had been talking a majority of the afternoon about silly things, the sort of things that the couple had talked about in the days before; never anything serious—that's just the way that Albus preferred it to be, that is, at least when he was near his brother. The man had been called a boor too many times by Aberforth when he talked about serious subjects to enter that realm. Thus, the three of them were enlightened in nonsense talk; so whimsical was it, that he allowed his thoughts to drift as he watched the girl's eyes glimmer from merrymaking.

She had taken things well; even the incident from earlier in the day—Albus hadn't even taken it so well, and he'd have expected that she'd be the worst of them. Ah, but it was Miss Minerva who held her head high and offered no threats of anything—of course he never would have expected the woman to threaten his brother, but any other woman would have been angry enough to consider leaving him after such an episode (and such a short time together). Of course, he had known all along that she was a strong character when she was with others; she'd never dream of leaving such a good thing unless she had a real reason—potentially something life threatening.

He chuckled to himself.

No, he had finally found the one thing in life that he'd been looking for and it was an awesome power. Albus had at last found love in a girl who loved him and whose eyes shined brilliantly when she was happy and welled up tremendously when she was sad; he found a real person, not just a figment of his imagination.

"Albus?"

Blinking, his vision grew ever so slightly clearer as he stared upon the woman who had just addressed him. "Yes, Min?"

It was her turn to blink this time, though they were long drawn out movements where her mouth grew into a soft smile. "Why are you staring like that? Aberforth was very clearly just insulting you, and when I turn to hear your retort, you're staring like a red headed teddy bear."

Quickly, he glanced over at his brother who had an interested grin upon his face and then back at Minerva. "I was only thinking. Isn't a man allowed to think?"

Aberforth laughed softly to himself. "Thinking is allowed. Fantasizing is not, which is what you were clearly doing." He glanced over at Minerva who had a slight blush upon her face and then back towards his brother who failed to respond, "How long have the two of you been an item, then? Things must be serious if you're allowing me to spend time with you two—forgive me, Minerva, but my brother tends to think of me as a lady stealer; they can't stand my charm," he winked in a solely playful manner.

The lovers looked at each other awkwardly. Naturally, Albus was the one to answer the question, though rather slowly, "We've been growing closer in this past week. I suppose we haven't technically been a couple until…" he scrunched up his face in thought—he couldn't for the life of him remember how long ago it was that he first made love to the woman—"well, two, maybe three days ago, depending on how you look at it."

"Well," the younger brother spoke out of surprise, "then I suppose this meeting is a little bit premature? You usually keep the girls for at least a month before I hear anything about them."

Albus shrugged. Perhaps, yes, he would have waited to introduce Minerva to Aberforth if he had had the chance, but he felt no pressure by letting them see each other so soon; besides, it wasn't like he willingly let the two of them meet—Aberforth caused his own introduction. "I have faith in this one," he smiled at Minerva, "she's very good about adapting to situations. You know, she travels for the ministry; she's been everywhere imaginable."

The younger brother looked at Minerva with an interest in his eyes, "Travel, do you? What branch are you in, by the way?"

"Transfiguration. And Albus gives me too much credit," she smiled lovingly at him, "I just make sure that everything goes well in certain places where we experiment and that's only half of the time. The other half I write reports on what I've seen, so you see, it's really a matter of staying with the status quo."

Aberforth chuckled. "I always knew that Albus would take to someone who's as interested for science as he is—and that _is_ saying something."

"I resent that remark," Albus spoke up indignantly. "You should not ridicule me just because I am not interested in the dribble that you like. Come now! Your favorite book until you were forty-two was The Importance of Being Hairy."

"It's a classic!" he retorted. "You ought to give it a chance. You gain a lot of respect for your fellow man and animals."

Albus glanced at Minerva who had the most peculiarly amused smile upon her face; it was as if she had finally slipped into her own little world and refused to return to the real one. The man turned back towards his brother; "My dear brother, you gained a love for farm animals and yourself. I do not believe that constitutes your fellow man."

"Poppycock and balderdash. I now love anything and everything around me with hair."

That was the breaking point, at least for one of the three. Minerva's laughter echoed between them, radiating like the sun, warm and joyful. The two boys looked at her incredulously; they'd been having a real argument and then the woman just broke into fits of laughter. What a silly thing to do; but laughter was infectious. Before long at all, the three of them were laughing happily.

* * *

Oh goodness me. There it is. It isn't as humorous as I had hoped, but I thought it did all right, depending on the sort of humor you like…

We'll be seeing Aberforth for another chapter or two. :) I'm not sure what sort of mood I'm gonna bring to the table; it depends on what my characters tell me to do!

Please review if you've taken the time to read this story. It's my current pride and joy and I can only make it better if I have some input.

-minni


	13. Albus

Yay. I'm here. :) Enjoy…I actually cried while writing the end. It's just one of those bittersweet things…and then next chapter we shall hit what I'd like to call the climax. :)

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Albus

She was surprised at how quickly evening came upon them; it seemed only a second before the bright, magnificent world was made dark and thoughtful.

Minerva sat alone at the top of her lover's house, cradling her knees as she surveyed her surroundings while waiting for Albus to return with something or other that he failed to mention.

The moon glimmered brilliantly at the top of the lake's water, casting its white shadow along the smooth liquid. Had she been in more of a tawdry mood, she'd have taken to the water and swam alone while waiting for the man. Alas, she had no real desire to be surrounded by filth, left over from the rain storm only the day before.

She could see lighting far off into the distance, still an hour away perhaps, making her quite certain that the waters would be back before long. Still, she sat at the top of the house and thought to herself of the wonderful world in which she was suddenly a part.

There was Albus, of course, but there was Aberforth, and a school, and love; all of it was wonderful. Well, the idea of it all was wonderful; incredibly romantic.

"You're rather alone up here," a warm, though only vaguely familiar voice called from the other side of the roof top. Aberforth approached her slowly, sitting himself down beside the woman, keeping his boundaries of course, and then sighed when Minerva merely replied, "yes".

Many seconds of silence fled by, though the woman did not feel as if she'd ever before heard such a devastating amount of tension. "So," he sighed again, much to the woman's dismay, "what did he do when you told him about that drunkard chap?"

Very, very slowly, the woman turned her head to stare at the man with wide eyes. He couldn't possibly mean _her_ drunkard, could he? He couldn't have meant Edwin? "Drunk-ard?" she replied slowly.

"Yes. I'm sorry to say that I recognized you the second…well, second time I saw you this morning. Maybe that's why I shut up so quickly—not simply because it was an awkward situation," he blinked innocently. "Anyhow, I suppose you have a face that men can't forget—and trust me, I forget women I have affairs with, but not yours. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you were with such a drunkard…or maybe because I always felt guilty," he nodded slowly, "forgive me, but you looked rather out of place when you came into my bar, looking for that man. I don't think you ever noticed me; you were always much too busy with getting him away from the table."

In total and complete awe, the woman peered at Aberforth. She knew him, not because he looked like Albus, but because she _really_ knew him; he must have ran the tavern that Edwin went to—God. Minerva blinked to herself, suddenly recollecting the nights at the end of their last year where she found him indulging on a drink or two quite regularly.

"Well, anyhow," he shrugged, "Fuck it," he threw a careless hand away, "I read an article after I realized that he'd been missing for over a week; it had a dame, which I can only assume was you, face down on the floor and a picture of the man. Article said that he went on a drunken rampage, practically killed the woman—hell, I think the article even said that the girl was labeled as critical. I suppose it's rather lucky that you weren't hurt too badly to go on with life. Rather twisted turn of fate that you should be involved with my brother."

She opened and closed her mouth for many seconds, unable to find any words at all with which to either scold the boy or beg him to stay quiet about what he obviously knew. In the end, she merely shook her head from side to side, disbelieving; the articles that had been published never once said her name; merely that Edwin's "fiancée" had been beating within an inch of her life—and never had there been a picture of her face. The woman swallowed, "Please don't tell Albus about that."

Aberforth's eyes went into a concerned and surprised state; he obviously thought that Minerva had told her lover. "You mean he isn't aware that you…were…?"

"Beaten? Nearly killed? No," she shook her head defensively, "He doesn't. He…" she stopped quickly, reflecting on what she was about to say, but went on with it anyway, "he doesn't know many things about me." She said it quite matter-of-factly, but there was an air to her, and she would admit it if the time came, that sounded scared—and she was, way deep down.

The man shook his head gently. "You know, he wants to marry you, Minerva; where do you think he went?" he looked at her inquisitively.

Minerva blinked, utterly and completely daunted. She had never given it a thought; of course she dreamed of being with him, even been promised by him that she'd stay with him, but she never expected a proposal so…soon. There were, indeed, too many things that she had failed to tell him that he was entitled to hear. Thus, she was suddenly hit with the worst wave of fright that she had felt, held second only next to her last evening with Edwin.

Quickly, she jerked her head to face Aberforth, panic written all over her face. Merlin, she had to tell Albus so many things, but couldn't; she feared, more than anything, that he would leave her with the mention of her torments—all the others had. What's more was that she loved him, no lie, with all of her heart and he would not ever, in a million years, do anything to harm her, save for perhaps leave—but that would be the worst thing possible for him to do. Minerva would not want to go on living if he were to say goodbye.

A deep breath that sounded very near a cry escaped her mouth before speaking to Aberforth, "What shall I say?"

He blinked softly. "That is up to you, but I think he ought to hear it." Then there was another long silence before the man decided to speak up again, this time keeping way from his brother's affairs and moving directly to Minerva's. "And I…er…have a question if you don't think it too horrible of me. I've always felt a little bit responsible."

She nodded slowly, as to tell him to go on.

"The paper had said that you were not stable, which always made me wonder. I mean, we live in a world where everything is curable. I was just wondering as to what he did to you that caused you to be labeled as critical."

A sad, sad smile crossed her face. "I suffered internal damage from the waist up," she spoke forlornly, "And I suppose it does not help when they give you a potion that doesn't work. The acidic balance, they told me, wasn't balanced at all. My insides were worse off after the first go-round than in the beginning," she sat up from where she was on the room as she saw the rain begin to fall just across the way, and then looked at the brother once more. "Some problems won't ever be cured."

Then she left—not from fear or hatred, but Minerva felt suddenly very sorry for herself.

* * *

Aberforth sat at the top of the house for a fair few more seconds before the rain came, thinking sadly to himself. He had given Minerva quite a turn by mentioning what he knew for he was sure that she did not remember him. Why would she, anyhow? The only reason he had ever made such a mental note of the woman was the way she came into his tavern the first time; she had been so young, he remembered, and in all honesty, he did wish that he could have laid his hands on a patch of her smooth skin that was then covered in burgundy robes, but that's not what grabbed his attention. What made him remember the woman was the way that she spoke to the man who appeared as well-to-do as she was, though he knew from past experience that he was nothing more than a scoundrel—not that it bothered him, that's about all that ever came into his bar. 

The man had been taking shots for a long while and was in a state of drunkenness that would have made sailors proud, but she came in anyhow. Minerva had put her hand on his shoulder which was slumped over the table and whispered into his ear—Aberforth couldn't hear what she said, he was too far away. And then the boy lifted up his head almost giddily and looked up at the woman.

"Of course, Love," the boy said aloud. "I'll be there this evening. I've got some people to meet here and some figures to manipulate."

She nodded her head slowly, obediently, and then pecked him on the lips. "I love you," she whispered, though this time Aberforth could read her lips.

"I love you too," he smiled as a hand drifted down to her young buttocks and he squeezed. Aberforth only took note of this because of the disgusting look that appeared on the man's face; it was as if Christmas had come early and he knew damn well what he was getting and in what quantity.

It had struck him odd, above all, that Minerva, who came off as perhaps snobbish—never whorish—would let such a man grope her, but he was not stupid enough to not recognize that look that enters a woman's eyes when she's in love, and Minerva certainly was not lacking it. She was young, he knew, and naïve, which explained it all, but he never quite got over what he saw perhaps a month after that scene.

Some of his customers had left the Daily Prophet in pieces at the table; he was picking it up when he saw the article—what a sad sight, indeed. There was a picture of that young woman, a deep gash on her head, leaking blood upon the floor where nothing else of her dared to move out of pain, or concussion, whichever applied. Beside her picture, there was one of the drunkard, whose name Aberforth never knew. Immediately, the man read the article after glancing at the headline: Murder Attempt to Be Judged by Courts.

What a sad story it was, indeed. The man came home, drunk, and ruined the woman's hope of survival, nearly. The article didn't say very much on their relationship of where either of them worked, merely the fact that a man had physically beaten a woman and the woman was near death.

It was something that he'd always carried on his shoulders; Aberforth surely was the instigator of that horrific night, though he never cared so much as he suddenly did with the re-introduction of Minerva to him, let alone the fact that his brother was involved with the woman. He suddenly felt so very sorry that he ever chose to work at a bar, but there was no turning back by then; he was stuck with his regrets and could never change a thing. He only hoped that all would work out well between the girl and his brother; they were both broken by love and it was only right that they should be mended by it as well.

He apparated straight to his room, which was thankfully empty, a

* * *

nd put a small blue box with a small gold circle with a small diamond beneath a book in his drawer. Minerva would never be going in there, he knew, if only for the reason that it held his array of knickers; Albus chuckled to himself at the thought of the woman invading his drawer: "Green and yellow, Albus? _Green and yellow?_" 

The man just couldn't get over the amusement; he loved her. And as such, he wasted no time in beginning a search for Minerva, who had promised to stay at the house until his return. Out the room, into the bland hallway, and down the stairs he went, considering the fact that she would find no business upstairs if he was not present. After all, there were only bedrooms; one for Aberforth, one for Albus, and one for guests with the addition of a library. It was only an afterthought to consider searching his reading room. By then, however, he was downstairs, looking at an open room holding only one soul—not the one he had been looking for, either.

Albus approached his brother who seemed to take no notice of his presence until he was close, by only a few meters.

Aberforth looked at him quizzically. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

The man nodded slowly. He would forgive Aberforth's expression in light of his soaring happiness; indeed, he had found the most perfect ring that he ever could have found. "Where is she?" was all that he could ask—and conceivably all that was on his mind.

Perhaps not so young, younger brother shrugged his shoulders, "She disappeared not long ago. I would think that she went to her home for a few moments, though she didn't say."

Bobbing his head gently, curiously, he turned his attention to the upstairs where there was indeed a library to be searched before he left to the woman's home. "It isn't like Minerva to leave when she said she would stay," he sighed. When there was no response from his brother, the man decided to apparate to the reading room which had only a candle or two floating near a settee by the window.

He walked slowly up to the couch, only to find a very young girl looking back up at him with a soft smile. She looked different, Albus noted, though he couldn't figure out what it was that made her appear so…young suddenly. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he had never considered it before Aberforth brought it up; he always thought the woman his equal in mind, and as such, the body only took notice when making love—and as his brother had mentioned, age was a great handicap for such action.

"You're back," Minerva spoke in a mild, touching voice. Her big eyes never left his in the few seconds that followed; her admiration was well endowed in the abyss of black in front of the gray as the candles flickered above her. She did, in all right, look magnificent in such a setting; the woman was so very beautiful when she let herself be vulnerable in his presence.

Making his way around the settee, he took the side of a cushion near the woman's waist, who was laying flat on her back. Albus put her hand in his and squeezed (the rain, he noticed quite accidentally, was pounding hard on the window, not unlike his heart in his chest). With his other hand, he grabbed the tiny book that stood on her torso and read its title: Help, I've Transfigured My Mother: A Comedy. The man chuckled to himself and then kissed her hand.

"Not the sort of thing I'd imagine you reading in the candlelight with the," he stopped to glance outside the window, "rain outside; I'd have thought you'd pick up something closer to the romance department."

Softly smiling, she tightened her grip upon his hand. "I needed to laugh."

"Oh?" he batted an eye, utterly baffled, "did my brother do something while I was gone to offend you? If he did, I most certainly _can_ take care of him. Of course if he hasn't done anything, I can go by whim," he shrugged, smiling insensitively at his words, which were meant to be a joke.

"No," she shook her head, "he hasn't done a thing; in fact, he's been rather good to me this evening."

He blinked, unable to believe her words. It was not that Albus did not trust Aberforth, but rather the tone that came from her mouth that led him to feel ever so slightly misled; she did not put on her best performance, he knew, when she was severely irked. But the man drew no attention to it, if only for the woman's interest and instead turned towards something good, something entertaining.

"And I suppose that is why you've chosen this outrageous book to lighten you up?" Albus searched over the cover once again and then opened it, flipping to a random page. "_Feline Frenzy: that's what they call it. She tore up all of my furniture and curtains. Who would have thought that such a change would have such a negative effect on mother? Of course, it does no good to dwell on what I may have done; if I change her back, she'll only turn me into a cat as means of punishment. Say, I wonder if there's a potion to make cats forget? Maybe then I can—"_

Albus stopped. The entry skipped a date. He read on to the next page, "_Sorry, she went on the floor; hideous mess_," he turned towards Minerva who had a smile on her face. "Amusing, isn't it?"

The woman nodded her head gently. "I've always wondered how it is that idiots make it in this world," she rolled her eyes, "and the solution is apparently to write a book about all of the ignorant things they've done. It keeps the intelligent ones humored," Min smiled.

A short chuckle escaped his mouth and then he quickly realized that he had nothing to say back to her remark, though he rather agreed—not that he necessarily considered himself above the normal person. Minerva, on the other hand, seemed slightly ignorant herself in stating what she had, if only for the reason that she dared to say it. The fact that the woman was intelligent did not make her very different from everybody else; in the end, all humans had a heart and emotions—though Albus had to admit that she appeared to have an abundance of each. "Some more than others, I suppose," he added gently to the woman whose eyebrows rose quickly at the statement; she was not ignorant enough not realize in what context he meant his words.

"Tell me Albus," she breathed after a fair few seconds of thought and mental accusations, "how is it that you're so trusting, so kind, so _forgiving_," she spoke gently, "after you've lived life for so long and seen so many things? After," her eyes grew large, "the sort of heartbreak you've been through with war and Ellie; I don't see at all how you can be so good-natured." Her eyes were focused on his and did not leave, though he turned away from her to place the book upon the floor.

When he turned upon her again, in all fairness, he knew that she looked just as worried as he felt; for whatever reason, the both of them knew that they were not on the happiest of subjects. After all, Albus had tried for years to make himself a good person; not everyone was able to forgive themselves after being in a war, or heartbroken for that matter. Though he did find it odd that Minerva would bring up the subject of war; they had only touched on it once, and that was a very short, very subtle, conversation in which she asked no questions and he told no answers.

The man sighed softly into the flickering darkness, though his gaze on the woman could never be broken. His words, he realized, were far too doleful for such a setting, but there was no escaping once he started, "War, Minerva, does things to people mentally, especially the way that we wizards fight; one second there is a being, standing in front of you and in the next second, you see a green light and then they're dead on the floor. It's," he nodded his head methodically for a reason quite unknown to himself, "it's horrible. They, the soldiers, don't have a chance, not really for either side—good or evil. You see, you're too young to know very much about the war of 1945, but there were no rules; people apparated and disapparated only long enough to cast a curse and then leave before they were killed themselves. It became a deadly game…a game of wits," he nodded and then stopped abruptly.

Her eyes were fixated on his with a look somewhere between adoration and horror; he was not sure if he was meant to go on, but he could not answer her question without telling the story; she _was_ too young to realize what sort of pain could come with battle. Thus, he took her hand again and went on; Minerva said not a word. "I remember," he sighed, "the day the war ended. I have never told anyone but my closest friends what happened that day—the press hasn't ever been told a word; only that it was I who defeated Grindewald. It was a cold, _cold_ winter's night; it was one of those evenings where you could have frozen to death if you chose to sleep, so no one slept, but everyone—a group of about one hundred men—walked around like the living dead; we were all tired of war, tired of seeing random good men killed for no reason other than perhaps goodness. That's all the fighting had been about; the good versus the bad—pitiful reason to let men die."

Minerva squeezed his hand tightly, so tight that he had to stop speaking; the man stared at the woman who had eyes waiting to be wrung. She sat up then from the settee and walked towards the window; when she reached it, she turned to look at the man and then put her body next to his, resting her head on his shoulder. Gladly, he put his arms around her and pulled her closer. He felt that she wanted to say something, but only a silence came, wretched and unwanted; Albus continued, if only to avoid the loneliness of the quiet.

"We, that is the designated leaders, were talking about plans to invade—the other side had only just gotten us, limited our numbers by far too many—and realized that we really had no idea where the other side was hiding; after all, they could have been anywhere in the world. As it turns out, they decided to take another wack at defeating our entire camp right about that moment; the screaming, banging, clanging began yet again and I immediately apparated around camp, casting what spells I could; it was the way things were done. If one stood in the wrong place for too long, then there was death; no person in their right mind would stay in one spot for it offers reason enough for the other side to do away with you.

Eventually, I apparated myself right to Grindewald himself; he and I met at the top of a hill, overlooking the camp. I don't suppose he was fighting, merely scavenging, being the coward that he was." Albus leaned in to look at the woman who looked much too downcast for being such a pretty creature, and kissed her softly on the cheek. The man continued quietly, finishing the story, "He knew I was there and he had a wand out, ready to do away with me; even then I was something to be feared, I suppose. I drew my wand, he drew his, and then there was a flash of green light; it _was_ the end, but the battle went on that evening. The good won, of course, but there were bodies littering the floor; there was no end in sight; just rows and rows and of monstrously askew bodies, soaked in freezing mud. I won't ever forget that…that vision. Maybe that, Minerva, is why I am the way that I am; being evil, growing hate in one's soul, does nothing, except for kill."

And there was a silence, begging for warmth at the end of such a cold story that filled their worlds. She wrapped her arms around him after minutes of the rain's sound hitting the window became drilled in their minds and he put his arms around her, too. He held her so very tightly; much, much tighter than he ever remembered doing and she stayed there for an unknown but blessed time. He had never, never, cared so much about having something to hold as he did in those fleeting moments; Albus, though he was a romantic man, was not one for tears, but when she spoke gently into his ear, he felt his throat tense up if only for he really realized what Minerva meant to him. Her words, ever so subtle, were quite simply, "I love you."

When she released her hold, she looked at him with streaks of tears across her cheeks. He brought his thumbs to where the water was and wiped it to the darkness. The woman smiled softly and then ran her fingers through his hair as he pecked her gently on the lips. "I love you too, Minerva."

"Albus," she whispered to him as she allowed her hands to trace across his lined face, "I don't deserve you."

He shook his head gently and then met her lips with his own, much too hard to consider it a peck. "My dear," he breathed heavily into her ear, "It is I who do not deserve you."

The woman looked at him with her unusually emotional eyes and shook her head in turn. "You are everything that I am not," she spoke with a trembling voice, "you're brave and noble and forgiving. You are what I wish I was—what I once was—what I want to be and I just don't deserve you."

In spite of himself, he had to smile at her comment; she thought so little of herself when he thought her the world. "Ah," he kissed her on the cheek this time, "but you are loving and emotional and beautiful and everything else that I could want in anyone. I dare to say, I don't deserve to love someone as wonderful as you."

He could see her lips trembling as she searched for the right words to say, for the appropriate response, but no words came at all. Instead, she leaned into his kiss; her soft, usually tender lips grew wanting, hungry for something that even he perceived to run deeper than sex; deeper than his touch or his mouth; deeper, perhaps, even than love. Still, they made love. They made love like they had never done before; like they were saying goodbye and hello in the same moment; like love was all they had to hold on to.

* * *

I shall let you ponder now on that thought. Please review, it let's me know what to do for the next chapter. 


	14. Broken

Chapter Fourteen: Broken

The fact that she was completely naked besides a sheet did not bother her in the least, nor even that she resided near the window in a house that she had never known; no, nothing about her surroundings bothered her, with the exception of the reality that her lover was watching her stare out the window with worried eyes.

He had been looking at her since she left his side, though Minerva never dared to turn her eyes to him in any part of the ten minutes she'd been away. The woman merely felt his stare upon her skin; his warm, caring, perhaps slightly anxious stare. Yes, he was as anxious as she was scared for there was an air to the room that made all things hard to say, hard to cope. It was not the dimming candles that put such a mood on everything, or even the thunderous rain outside, but rather themselves; Minerva had purposely separated herself from her lover and he did not follow—not that she had ever wanted him to.

There were moments in her life where the woman felt that she had taken a person as high as she could, up into the sky where the both of them would lose their current and fall as hard and fast as they had ascended—she was reminded sharply of those moments as she stared onto the watery weather. For indeed, she had taken Albus as high as she possibly could; all that was left for him to know was the sad story of her life—the reasoning behind her fears and dreams and ways of living. There was no doubt on her part that he would understand, but there was a terrible doubt in her heart that he would stay.

It was not that she second-guessed his love…she believed in his love more than anything in the entire world; it was his love for something else that she feared would be greater than that of hers. The love of a dream was hard to let go.

But Albus was not letting go just then, not of anything; he was holding tight onto everything that he stood for, including Minerva; he approached her calmly and slowly from behind before wrapping his warm hands around her sheeted waist. His breath was regulated as he exhaled softly beside her ear, not at all like the woman's ragged, terrified breath—perhaps her worry was enough of a prompt for the man to speak, or maybe he had always had the intention of asking her that evening; after all, he did indeed tell her his story first. "Tell me what's wrong, Min. Please," his arms stretched tighter around her narrow waist, "tell me what happened to you."

She swallowed through a tight throat, feeling the grip of fear upon her body. While it was true that she had every intention of telling him what had happened to her with Edwin—and her mother, perhaps—it was not completely true that the woman was prepared. No, Minerva was not ready at all for things to grow cold and hopeless in her relationship. Still, she told him—it was not the first time he asked, nor would it be the last. "You are sure," she sighed, "that you want to know?"

"Yes," he whispered, "All of it. The who—what—when—where—why—and how, no matter how difficult it is, I'm here."

Certainly he was there; Albus would be there as long as she asked him to be, because he loved her. The kind of love that they felt for each other was difficult to break; no story could ever cause pain between them—that was what she told herself, at least. The fact of the matter was that she had her own pain without him knowing…how could things possibly be better if he was hurt himself? The terrible truth was that by the end of the evening, he could turn out to have more heartache than he ever imagined.

"Promise me," she spoke gently, "that if tonight should turn out for the worst and you should decide that you don't love me," her voice cracked ever so slightly, "promise me that you love me now." She slid her fingers through his, trying to avoid the terrible tremble that just flooded through her body.

The man kissed her softly on the cheek and said heartbreakingly slow, "I love you and I always will. That's a promise."

Minerva nodded her head and then proceeded to realize that she had no idea where to begin; her mouth went dry while her mind went from scary to scarier thought. She could not bear the idea of him leaving her; losing yet another love would just break her.

A dry swallow emitted little courage on her part, but it gave enough for a start. The fact that the room was silent for nearly five minutes was no concern of the woman's.

"I told you once," she whispered, "that love liked to be ripped away from people, which no doubt, you thought odd and perhaps insensitive," she blinked. "But I meant it. I meant it then, and I mean it now. Love," she shook her head slowly, "has not been kind to me."

It was only the beginning, only the introduction to what she had to say, but for some reason, there was already a painful throb in her chest which grew significantly when the man kissed her gently on the neck. "_I_ love you," he spoke tentatively.

"I know," she swallowed. "That's what makes this so difficult." Trying hard to keep her trembling breath stable, she focused out the window; rain was falling in the masses, hitting the lake as arrows would, reverberating low thuds of resistance. She was reminded sadly of their conversations earlier in the week where things were much simpler, gentler, perhaps: "_Rain is just…erotic, I suppose."_ Those were her words when they were alone, walking together, before they had even made love. It never occurred to her that she would be cursing them.

Minerva was riddled by the pounding of rain as it hit everything around her: the window, lake, ground, trees; it was like everything wrong in the world was pelting itself into her and beating all of the rational thoughts away. Her head grew heavy as the noise surrounded her, yet things were deafly quiet in the room in which she stood; the woman's forehead fell and hit the window, resting there for a fair few seconds, imprinting its cold, vaporous surface upon her skin.

Taking in a long, slow breath, she blinked and spoke, feeling no stronger than she ever had, but perhaps not nearly as weak as before she met Albus. "I was in love once," she whispered, "Terribly, terribly in love. His name was Edwin." Minerva paused for a brief second, waiting for any reaction from the man, but when none came, she went begrudgingly along. "I met him at the ministry and I wasted no time at all in falling in love with him; by all counts, I saw in him many of the things that I see in you: loyalty, intelligence, humor, manners…love, I suppose." The woman shrugged as a knot jostled its way into her mouth, "The thing is, Albus, I was willing to believe anything if it meant that I would be happy."

"You were unhappy?" he asked softly, nearly letting his lips touch the tips of her ears.

She took one of her hands away from the man's and touched the invisible side of his face with it, memorizing every curve of his handsome visage. "I've always been unhappy," she sighed, "always. It has something to do with the fact that I often feel that I am…the exception, I suppose. Please don't misunderstand me," she added quickly, sadly, "I know that everyone is different. I don't put myself above everybody else, though it may appear that way, I merely think of myself as different from the others; my own person, I suppose." The woman did not know how to explain it, how to tell the man of her struggle to be a pretty, intelligent, and perhaps ever so slightly prideful girl in a world full of misogynistic, careless men. Even in her student days she had been placed in such a horrid spot; after all, had it not been Albus who informed her only days ago that her classmates had written dirty things about her? Young boys wrote, even then, about her pretty face and what they supposed went along with it; they never cared for a moment about her feelings and yet she strived to be one of them. Certainly she was different from the rest of the group. Of course, no matter what she said to the man, it would come out either hollow or negligent, so she merely shook her head.

"My Dear, there is not one of us who is alike on this planet and everyone feels the way that you do every now and then."

Minerva nodded her head slowly. That was not the first nor the last time that she would be hearing such a phrase for she knew that it was true; the only difference was that she rarely felt that she fit in anywhere…save for perhaps the two times in her life that she fell in love. "I know," she whispered as she ran her fingers through his red hair, though never daring to turn from the window, "but I have never felt that I was like anybody else…or that anyone ever understood me…except perhaps you and Edwin at one point in time."

A scared laugh fell from her mouth as she recalled it all much too clearly: evenings, mornings, work, balls, his smile, his eyes, his hatred that final evening; the whole lot was enough to make her skin crawl right off her body. "He was charming," she brought her hand back down to her stomach where it met the man's once again, though they did not interlock, "at first, anyhow. He made me laugh like no one else ever had; he made life seem so simple when he spoke; like it was a giant ride filled with happiness and laughter. I had never thought of living as enjoyable until then," she blinked, "until I was in his arms. He was the first man to ever tell me that he loved me. And I have no qualms whatsoever," Minerva rocked her head from side to side dejectedly, "in telling you that he was my first lover…it might explain better my devotion to the man."

Albus's hold on her grew tighter, quite suddenly, for no apparent reason, save for perhaps the fact that he now knew that she had once been in love before him—not that such a reasoning made even the slightest of sense. It could not be even the least of a secret to the man that she had indeed once fallen in love…it would have been silly of him to assume that he was the first. In any case, he turned the woman around so that she looked into his understanding eyes and forlorn smile. He was worried. "You said that he was charming only at first?"

Her head bobbed up and down for a short time as she looked over Albus. She had never looked at him in such a light as she did in those moments; he was much more durable than she. He had a strong heart beat, protective hands, warm skin, a very bent nose, and a slightly weatherworn face; age had nothing to do with any of it for he was and had always been stronger than she would ever be—Minerva was drawn to him for that. And quite suddenly, that seemed to matter.

The woman's voice held a suddenly scared note when she next spoke, for it was dawning upon her that she would not do well at all if things did indeed turn for the worst. "He changed slowly." The girl looked away from his eyes and brought her head to his chest so she would not have to see his reaction. "I hardly even noticed it at first, but then he stopped doing the little romantic things that caused me to fall in love with him, but I assumed that was only natural…then he started drinking. I found him in a pub often—and other times I found him passed out upon the floor. I thought," she swallowed hard as the memory played at her mind, "that he would snap out of it for me, pull himself away from alcohol for me…of course," she gave a deeper, far more uneasy laugh than the last, "as it happens, he was drinking because of me most of the time." Minerva looked up at Albus who had the most baffled, horrified expression that she had ever seen—and that was most certainly saying something.

Appearing as though he felt inclined to say his bit, the girl waited tolerantly for her lover to say something, anything, but nothing came; he merely stared upon her, processing her as though she was a ministry document. She stepped back from him, feeling quite misplaced in her own right. The man grabbed her hands and squeezed them with the new distance between them and shook his head. "_Because_ of you?"

With several subtle blinks, she nodded.

My, how well she remembered those evenings when she came home to find him on the floor! His robes seemingly floated around his linear body, casting a sad shadow upon a home that was not a home; the trademark smirk on his face was drowned out by the inebriating liquid and replaced by absolute unconsciousness—she had not wondered since the accident, what pleasure he found in oblivion for she understood it perfectly, though it was at the expense of love; he was free.

"I suppose I was too headstrong for him, too eager to prove myself, too intelligent. I didn't realize until later that I brought him such unhappiness—not that I'd have left him if he told me; I don't suppose I've ever been bold enough to walk away from something that I felt to be love. But the fact of the matter is that I didn't know and he didn't care to tell me. I suppose it could be considered rather great irony that I did not expect to come home one evening and find him..." she paused, looking for right word, the most delicate but vindictive word she knew, and found only one, "homicidal."

He blinked, "H-homicidal?"

"That's right," she nodded, "_homicidal_." A terrible lurch found its way into her stomach with the word and dug deeper and deeper to the point of sickness as she added on with a cold, cold voice, "murderous, deadly, fatal." Tears somehow found their ways to her eyes quite suddenly as the images began flashing before her, not unlike how they did every night. This time it was different, however; she was wide awake, staring through bleary eyes at her lover and he could not wake her from the horrid nightmare. She turned away from him, refusing to let him see her break down; of course, the rain outside did nothing at all to brighten her world.

"He had the most horrid look on his face," her voice cracked intelligibly, "not that he just wanted to hurt me," she shook her head, "he did not even just want to kill me. He wanted to break me into a million tiny pieces and then let me lie there."

Her hands shook gently as she placed them over her cold shoulders; she remembered the pain of that winter night.

Often, the woman could still feel his hands on her, his volatile limbs striking her as if she were clay to be reshaped at his whim: Edwin's fingers were still clutched tightly around her wrists, which were coincidentally as pale as death; his body was still pressing hers against the wall as he spoke vehemently into her ear, "_Guess what, Love?_"; she still could feel his foot upon her back as he made the first break; she could hear his enjoyment, his childish amusement in destroying someone else's life; above all, she could hear her cries echo down a deserted street in the middle of winter—no one came. "He broke me," her voice finally ruptured for good, "he killed me inside, Albus," she cried out to the rainy sky. "He attacked me. Oh God," she shook her head viciously; "He didn't even use his wand. He just..." she moved her lips together, but no sound came out, only a cry as heavy tears began to fall from her eyes. The woman's head fell again onto the moist window glass where she breathed heavily as unwanted rain fell from her eyes.

The man brought his arms around the entirety of her unstable body, squeezing as if to say that he would always be there for her, but she knew better; she had been told that so many times and yet she was the one alone in crying. But then he did something that none of the others had ever dared to do; he spoke to her. "Minerva," he whispered heartbreakingly slow, "I'll take you over to the settee; you're going to fall if you keep up like this."

And he took her to the settee, without as much as a nod from the woman; she cried onto his naked chest with her arms wrapped tightly around him.

--

A murky night, that's what it was. Fog hovered miserably over the empty London street below where no person in their right mind dared to walk for fear of robbers and all the other things deemed evil upon the evening hours. But one Armando Dippet did not pay as much attention to the midst of things as he ought to have; one glance out the window was all he could possibly contribute out of his busy schedule.

He tapped his quill irritably upon the roll of parchment for the thousandth time, knowing full well that he had a deadline to make and no words to aid him.

The Ministry of Magic was waiting for his consent, his opinion, on a matter that he had no direct opinion of, yeah or nay. After all, what did he care whether or not the ministry put on its international education banquet on September second or eighth of the next year? Either way he'd be missing an important part of the school year, and frankly, he was a bit perturbed over the stupidity of the Minister for even asking. In the name of all that was good and holy, why was it of the least importance what day he wanted the bloody banquet? They would just change the day at the last minute, even if they went with his opinion in the beginning.

Armando shook his head and began writing slowly, not because he was unable to think, but more or less because of his sudden rheumatism, brought on by the odd weather. It was not a new occurrence, the rheumatism, not in the general sense, but it was getting worse by the day it seemed, though he had always known that it got worse with the years. In all normal circumstances, he took a potion to cure the ache, but he suddenly found himself without eye of newt and thus without a remedy; the man had to endure the pain, but that perhaps was nothing new to him.

The coming of age was something that he could not avoid and did not want to, for that matter, but it was quite often that he wished that he were as strong as he once was. Why, from time to time, he had to use his wand to levitate a fallen book into his arms, or something of the like. No, he was nowhere near young; as a matter of fact, he was beginning to feel quite old.

With a few final scribbles, he put down his quill and took a swallow of something pungent along with a muggle pill, used to cure aches and pains. He did not normally mix a strong drink with the things called caplets, but he couldn't very well take much more of that horrid after-taste in his mouth. To tell the truth, the alcohol rather calmed him anyhow; he had the belief that he could nearly almost be fine if he could just feel the effects of the warm liquid on his achy body and avoid medicine completely.

Quite rightly, too, he contemplated as he made his way into bed, he could avoid medicine completely anyhow. After all, it only took a simple pop to get to Diagon Alley where he could find his way into the potions shop. Of course, he didn't like to go outside much anymore; he was beginning to feel rather out of place, not that it had ever stopped him before.

Armando sighed as he pulled the bed covers over his body. He was old.

It had occurred to him only recently to start discussing retirement. Before he had started feeling pain constantly, he was the man always out on the quidditch pitch, always greeting students in the corridors; not anymore. Why, he would be happy if he made it through another school year without falling in front of the entire student body due to weakening legs—and no, never would he be using those infernal things called canes! Oh, many people had mentioned to him in the previous year that he was losing his touch, though only slowly; well, as a matter of fact, he was losing his legs too.

The man blinked.

Perhaps he would contact Albus and see if he was up to take on the responsibility of being the Headmaster…he was ready for it; in many senses, Albus Dumbledore should have almost taken his position when he came to the school, only because of his charisma and many accomplishments. Of course, things didn't work like that; more often than not, seniority was what noted who was where in the hierarchy at Hogwarts. As it turned out, Dumbledore was quickly made the deputy headmaster, despite the fact that he had not spent a day teaching; it was the teacher's vote, not his own…though he would have voted for the man if he had a say-so. Certainly, the man was up to the challenge; he was meant for it; he was meant for leadership.

Armando's eyes closed with the thought. They fell, shut tight, and did not open once more for reflection or inclination.

--

"Muggles found me," she spoke softly, with control, as she breathed heavily upon Albus's comforting shoulder; his hand was wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her close to his warm skin while the thunder rolled outside and the lightning cracked. The rain was falling harder than ever, bringing hail with it, threatening to break the glass window. But she paid little attention to the change in weather; it was merely a fleeting thought, blasted away by heartache.

Minerva did not know how long she had been crying on her lover; hours, minutes, days—time seemed suddenly so unimportant to her caustic life. All she did know, all she could possibly know, was that he was still holding her, still clutching tightly onto her trembling skin. The girl shook harder than she could ever remember, not from cold, or even from fright, but from pain; she felt it still, deep down in her chest and back and head—a free hand trailed the side of her skull thoughtlessly where there had once been a deep, life-threatening gash.

The man put his hand on hers, slid his fingers through her inlets, and brought it down to the side of her hip. "Muggles?" Albus asked quietly, ever so slightly perplexed at not only her statement, but just that she spoke at all; for what seemed like eternity, there had been no sound in the room except for crying.

The girl, so suddenly far from womanhood, nodded her head and blinked through raw eyes. "Yes," she sighed. "At the time, we were sh-sharing a muggle flat; the door was left open and neighbors came. Edwin was in a body bind and I was on the floor, bleeding from the head with a concussion and a broken back. I don't suppose," she swallowed, "they knew what to make of it."

There was a long silence, much too long to have even the slightest idea of its duration. Minerva was perfectly aware that she had just skipped one of the most important parts of her story—how she got out—but she did not wish to cover that bit of information unless he asked; only more tears would come of that. For the moment, she had no such inclination to cry and preferred it to stay that way.

"In any case, they took me to the muggle hospital—and Edwin; I suppose they figured he had gone into shock where as I had been paralyzed and suffered from internal bleeding; I…I wasn't meant to live, Albus," she shook her head. "I should have died—"

"—no you shouldn't have. Never say that," he cut in softly, "_ever_."

She blinked, warmed by his need to make her feel better, but knowing full well that he also said it for himself; she knew that he was suddenly reminded of his lost love and the pain of losing her—Minerva was not surprised that he felt so strongly about the blunt words falling from her mouth. Albus did not like the idea of death—not only for himself, but for those around him; he had been hurt by it far too many times…more than even the girl hoped to comprehend. "I'm only being blunt," she whispered as she looked up slowly at his eyes; a glossy blue was relieving the usual sparkle.

He shook his head slowly. "No, you're being ungrateful."

There was a painful standstill in her chest as the words echoed in her head.

He thought her _ungrateful_? The man she adored and loved thought that she did not want to live? He thought that she would rather be dead than loving him? God, the only reason that she ever clung to life was for someone like him, someone who could make her world shine again; quite suddenly, everything turned darker than it ever had; she could see the shadows crawling in on her and the voices whispering…_I'm sorry it had to turn out this way…no, there's no possibility…you were lucky…_

The woman's throat began to constrict as she continued to stare at the man who looked at her sadly. He had meant it…and he was sorry for it; she knew that much was written upon his face. Perhaps that was what hurt the most.

"What?" he voice was meek again, weak and childish.

"Never mind," he sighed, "I shouldn't have said that; it was cruel of me." His hand ran reassuringly through her hair and down the bare skin of her arm, but it offered no reassurance at all; she was unable to get any friendly warmth from the man with his words. When she did not respond, he pecked her gently on the lips; a sign of affection that could not be returned quite suddenly. The woman let herself be kissed, but she did not reciprocate it…she merely stood there limply.

And when he pulled away from her unresponsive mouth, he stared at her pretty face, even ran his hand through her hair once more before shaking his head sadly, pain written on his face. "I didn't mean it," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Sorry, what a sad word it was, Minerva blinked. It covered a great many number of regrets; she was sorry that she had made so many wrong choices in her life, that she didn't say goodbye to her mother, that she loved Albus…yes, she was suddenly sorry for that. The woman loved him perhaps more than he even thought; more than any person had any right to love anyone. She loved his smile and how it always made things better; his eyes that sparkled when they made love; his voice that was normally so calming; his strength that she would never have; his life that made him who he was; his arms that held her so tightly…

There was no way of erasing the word 'sorry'; it just hung in the air, waiting for it to be accepted, but she did not accept it very often anymore; it was only a way of avoiding something painful. And what he had said was much more painful than he probably could have guessed; she had much reason to be ungrateful, but he was the one thing that kept her from being so…it hurt her to know that he didn't see what an attempt she had made.

She stared at him, feeling let down for the first time by the man.

Her thumb ran smoothly over his chin and stopped at his lips so he would not say another word. And indeed, he made no attempt whatsoever to say anything, even after she pulled her hand away from his face. Minerva stared into his eyes, trying hard not to fall in love all over again, but it was a hopeless effort; a single tear fell from her eye, but refused to fall from her face. "I'm sorry too," she nodded sadly, "but not for what I've said," she blinked as her throat clenched, "but for what I have to tell you."

The man blinked, perhaps not finding comfort in words, oddly enough, but by how she was looking at him. She knew she appeared a wreck: hair everywhere, eyes bulging, voice off a few chords, shaking figure; but somehow it didn't matter because she was staring at him with pain and love in her eyes. Minerva hoped, at least, that she was right about that; he didn't say anything because of how she was looking at him…and he knew that she would break down completely if he so much as said a word.

"Mum apparated me straight to St. Mungo's when she saw me—had her wand snapped not two hours later for doing magic in front of the muggle doctors. Even the healers didn't seem to think that I'd make it…internal bleeding and numerous breaks, including my back. But I suppose," she swallowed, "magic is a great thing—one failed potion and five others after that and I was better. I suffered from amnesia for a few months afterwards, but eventually things fell into place again," she blinked.

Albus nodded in comprehension, but didn't say anything. He understood. Minerva was distraught over what had happened, what was always on her mind; she was afraid of being hurt again as she once was, afraid of dying, afraid of living…she was afraid of the many things that made the man who he was. Perhaps that's what drew her to him in the beginning.

His arms wrapped around the woman and she put herself on the side of him, between Albus and the edge of the settee. The man smiled softly at her. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She shook her head slowly, knowing that she had not finished. Her hands went up to cradle his face; she memorized every line in those few seconds: bags beneath his eyes, little incisions near his mouth from laughing, lines fanning themselves on the side of each eye; it was the coming of age that she saw—something that would not be present on her face for many years to come. He was so much wiser than she, so deserving of happiness that it made her sick to think that he might not be able to find it with her; it made her heart ache much more than anything else she had ever been put through. Still, she made one last plea to the man, one last imploration, for him to choose her over everything else because she loved him and would always love him.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone," she swallowed down a hopeless pain in her throat, "more than I ever will, Albus. I want you to know that I will always love you…love these memories that we've made together." Her heart pulled tightly at her throat, causing her voice to crack miserably as several tears found their way to her eyes. "I won't forget," she took in a long, ragged inhalation, "tonight and how you held me and loved me and let me know that I'm not as hopeless as I think, but I'm not sure that you won't want to forget. I know pain," she nodded, unable to see anything with her watery eyes, "and sometimes it's best to try to forget it. I just hope that…that you won't forget that I loved you…that I will always love you."

"Min?" his voice was scared, something that she had never seen in him before.

She shook her head desolately. "I can't have children. You can blame Edwin for that."

And suddenly, the room went terribly quiet.

Minerva bit her lips tightly to avoid a cry and removed herself from the man's arms. She walked near the window, unaware of the thundering weather outside, but completely conscious of the deafening silence in the room. Never had she heard such a loud sound in all of her life. As the tears leaked down her face, she said onto the silence perhaps one of the most selfless things she had ever spoken: "I'll go if you want me to; I'll leave and never come back."

She waited for a response, but none came. When she turned around slowly, the woman was faced with the man who was sitting on the settee, head on hands in torment. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes, heartbreaking tears. But even his tears could not compare to hers…they fell onto her already raw face and into her mouth as she spoke, "Do you want me to go?"

Her life seemed to hang on his next response, his next word, but she stared at him for the longest time where there was no answer. And she knew as he blinked at her; she knew as all great lovers know that something has gone horribly awry; Minerva nodded her head. That was it. Done. Over. Finished. Ended. She shut her eyes tightly as the last tears fell from her eyes.

She apparated.

--

Albus stared through bleary eyes at the spot where the woman had been standing. She was no more. His dreams were no more. It all was suddenly so very hopeless…he had never felt that everything was hopeless before; even when Eleanor had died, there was always hope to guide him. Now, there was nothing except for sad confusion.

He loved Minerva. He thought that he loved her more than anything else in the world…but when she told, said that there was no chance for procreation, something inside of him snapped. Big bulging letters ran their way through his mind, _I cannot have children_. And he truly believed that he had not ever had such pain before; he had always planned on babies, even with Minerva—she never told him that she wanted kids, but she never told him that she couldn't...or perhaps she did and he just didn't see it. The latter rang most true; she had told him many times, he just didn't see through her subtle words.

Shaking his head, he thought of all the moments: _I don't see children in my future…one day I might give this to a little girl who is as close to my heart as I was to my mother…we would have had children by now…_The last one hurt the most. If only he had seen her before Hermit Lake…they would have fallen in love and they would have had children; now there was no hope of that. Hell, there was no hope at all.

She was much stronger, he realized, than he had thought in the beginning as he recalled the look upon her face when she was fighting to keep him. There was love and determination in her eyes as she cried wholeheartedly to him: _I just hope that you won't forget that I loved you, that I will always love you._ Minerva had more strength than he ever could have guessed, not because she could profess to him her feelings, or even that she kept herself from crying until the very end, but because she never once begged; not once did she say "stay with me". No, she let him make a decision on his own…and she understood it.

But he loved her.

The man shook his head uncertainly. Ultimately, he had two choices: love Minerva, have no children, and always wonder just how happy he really was or love someone else, have children, and wonder if he would have been happier with Minerva. Which regret was worth more: wife and procreation or loving and a wife? He blinked to himself.

The ring was in his room.

Quickly, he ran out of the library, naked, and into his room where he grabbed the ring and a robe.

He apparated to her house; she was sitting on the floor by the fireplace where they first made love in tears which were falling heavily to the wooden floor. While in the comfort of her own home, she held back no wails or cries of pain which echoed through the entire house, just let it out for she thought that she was alone; alas, Albus was there with a deep ache in his chest that he had not felt in years, watching her. He saw the water fall from her eyes, plop, plop, plop, knowing full well that it was on account of him.

Taking only a few steps brought him on the side of the settee, not far at all from the woman. If she heard him, she did not show it, however; she merely continued crying as the fire danced malevolently before her.

And he stepped closer, until he was beside her, and sat down. She kept her distance, keeping her arms wrapped around her folded knees which concealed her naked body, a dim reminder of how things had been only hours beforehand. He wanted very much to hold her, to stop her from crying, but there was a restraint in him that had not ever seemed to be there; it had nothing to do with morals, but with pain—Albus suddenly felt ill-equipped for what he was faced with; he knew death and danger, but not so much pain…not the sort that he was suddenly feeling with Minerva. He had not quite ever felt that destruction was on his own hands; even in war, he had found a way to forgive himself, to blame someone else. And there he was, knowing full well that it was he who had made the woman cry so profusely.

"Minerva?" he sighed as she trembled beside him.

The woman moved her head from side to side, either unable or unwilling to speak.

He put an arm on her shoulder and was surprised to see that she didn't shove it off, but merely continued on crying, ignoring the man completely. "I want you to stay," he insisted, "stay with me. I love you. I don't care about the children." Perhaps he was not being completely honest; he did care, but that meant nothing…he could endure the rest of his life if he had Minerva by his side. He wanted to see her marry him, to kiss him in a white dress while everyone that they cared about watched them; he wanted to see her grow older and wiser and to make love to him. He wanted her…he wanted her there.

The wails became duller in the following seconds, though he was sure that she continued to cry. The woman did not lift up her head when she spoke with hurt, but kept it very well hidden from him, "Go away."

Of all the responses that she could have given him, that was the last one that he expected. He would have thought that she'd crawl into his arms before telling him to leave…but then again, she was always a woman of surprise. Besides that, he did not doubt her heartbreak which he had undoubtedly caused only minutes before; he could only imagine the sort of expression she saw upon his face when she turned from that window. Albus had broken her heart terribly…without as much as a word. "I won't go," he whispered, "I love you."

She lifted her head up after several dead seconds and looked at him with red eyes and raw skin; she had never seemed quite as human as she did when the woman looked upon his face. He could see the pain, the hurt, the way he had killed her simply by her lips which refused to let even a hint of a smile cross. The woman took in a long breath and then buried her face back within her arms.

Albus pulled her closer to him so that their skin was touching. "Minerva," he sighed, "I don't want to forget what's happened between us…I want things to get better; I want to continue loving you, not remember what it was like. And if you'll look at me," he swallowed, "I want to ask you something rather important."

Her head did not lift to look at his face, but fell to his chest. Albus wrapped both of his arms around the woman and helped her to fit perfectly within his embrace. She wasn't crying; not loudly, anyhow. Tears were still falling from her face, but they seemed to be subsiding—at least she didn't seem nearly as distraught. The man ran his fingers along the smooth skin of her back and up into her hair, thankful, truly thankful, that she loved him and he loved her.

The amount of time that they spent like that was incalculable, but neither of them very much cared. Silence was suddenly wonderful. The fire crackled before them and her breathing grew very normal after some time; he felt that he should say something more than he was going to, but there seemed no reason for it…he had the slightest notion that Minerva knew perfectly well what it was that he wanted to ask. "Minerva," he whispered as the pink of dawn crept through the room, "will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said softly, "I'll marry you."

And she met his lips before resting her head on ahis chest nd closing her eyes; things would be getting better, he knew, if only for Minerva's sake; she deserved to be blessed with some happiness. All she needed was him.


End file.
